#mark lee fluff

mr. zhong takes one look at mark, letting out a sigh. he was too smart not to realize there was a hidden narrative unfolding. he let mark go without a word, signaling for karina to follow him in instead. 

mark ran. he sprinted past several doors and velvet curtains, the mansion feeling like a maze. he was nearly breathless, his mind a whirlwind of guilt and fury – until he saw you. 

you were standing on one of the open balconies, a light breeze in your hair and a single cigarette perched between your lips, the thin trail of smoke curling upward into the sky. 

“you know smoking is bad for you?” he says, his voice rough. 

he didn’t actually care about the nicotine. after knowing what he knows now, he understood why you had turned to the slow-killing machine to numb the pain of a fast-killing life. but he was drowning in emotion and that was the only sentence his brain could form. 

you turn to him, the shock on your face evident, as you put out the cigarette, tossing it over the balcony. 

“what are you doing here?”

he steps closer, closing the gap until only an arm’s length separates you, the scent of your vanilla scented perfume mixed with the smell of tobacco, “where else should i be?”

you huff a tiny, breathless scoff, a playful smirk tugging on your battered lip, “you should be in there,” you murmured, reaching out to fix the collar of his shirt, which had gone askew during his moment of ruin, “-impressing him.”

as your fingers brushed the fabric of his shirt, mark reached out and gripped your wrist, stopping your ministrations. the reaction was instantaneous – you flinched slightly. it shattered his heart into a thousand pieces. the realization that you had been conditioned to fear a touch, even his touch, was a horror he couldn’t articulate. 

“do you love me?” mark asked, a soft whisper yet loud and clear. 

you blinked, your hand freezing against his chest, “what?”

“do. you. love me?”

you smiled softly, your eyes softening, “you’re a brilliant man, director,” you whispered, “you should already know the answer to that.”

“why did you leave me then?” he pleads, almost begging for the answer. 

you closed your eyes for a moment. you still remember that day like it was yesterday. the day that haunted your every existence. 

 SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA: FIVE YEARS AGO  

❄️ THE END. ❄️

it was the day after christmas when your world turned completely upside down. 

the two of you had planned to stay until new year’s. his mother had already declared you weren’t allowed to leave. his brother had threatened to chain mark to the house if he tried returning to university early. his father had already bought the meat for the barbecue on new year’s eve. and mark – mark had promised to take you to the christmas fair. 

then your phone buzzed. 

johnny (security): ms. y/n. go outside. 

the text sent shivers down your spine. you slowly sat up as mark stirred slightly beside you. 

“baby?” he mumbled sleepily, his eyes still closed, “where you goin?” he whispered, voice hoarse with sleep. 

“bathroom,” you lied softly, earning a hum from him, his mind still stuck somewhere between his dreams. 

“mmkay,” he reached for your thigh, squeezing lightly, “love you,” he mumbled.

“i love you too,” you whisper, trying to hide the fear in your voice as he drifted back to sleep. completely unaware. completely trusting. you stared at him, memorizing everything, and suddenly, you wanted to wake him up and tell him everything. 

but you knew better. 

you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead and quietly, you climbed out of bed and slipped out of the house, the lee household still fast asleep. 

and there, across the street – stood johnny, standing beside a black sedan and inside that sedan is the shadow of a man you recognized immediately. 

the sight alone made your posture straightened. you nod at johnny before he opens the door, leaving you face to face with your father. just like that, you stepped back into your real life. 

your father doesn’t greet you. doesn’t ask how christmas was. he simply dropped a thick stack of papers onto your lap filled with pictures of you and mark from that very first convenience store date to the numerous ones that followed after that, to the park, to the street outside of mark’s apartment even to the ice skating rink. 

every precious memory you thought was reserved only between the two of you was reduced to evidence. like it was a criminal investigation. 

“father–”

“he’s the reason your grades are slipping.

“no,” you sputtered out, shaking your head, “no, that’s not true. i can fix it, it’s not that hard–”

“if it’s not hard, then why did they fall in the first place?” he looks at you then, that stern, stoic expression on his face like it wasn’t the holidays. it wasn’t a question, not really. he had no room for your explanations.

“we’re leaving and going back home.”

“what!? i can’t leave i–,” your voice cracked halfway, giving up. 

there was never any reasoning with your father. and you knew that from the very start — this would always be your ending. so instead, you surrendered.

“at least let me say goodbye.”

“no.”

“please–”

“if you step foot into that house again. i will personally make sure mark lee and his family never have a successful future.”

your blood ran cold. the name of the man you love slipping from his lips was absolutely terrifying, a single statement enough to take your air away. 

because you may be able to survive anything – his anger. his control. his disappointment. his hatred. 

but mark had dreams. he had ambitions and parents who loved him. he had a future. 

and you would never – never – take that from him 

you looked down at your left hand, at the black marker ring still wrapped around your finger and quietly, you curled your hand into a fist. 

“yes, father.”

mark woke up that day to an empty bed. he smiled, thinking you were just in the bathroom, then the kitchen, then maybe in the living room. but the time passed and you were nowhere to be seen. his mother thought you’d gone for a walk. his brother joked you’d left him for someone better. his father told him to relax. but something felt terribly wrong.

where would you even go?

by noon, he was calling your phone – it was no use. you had left it in in his room.

by evening – your social media has disappeared, your number had been disconnected. 

by the next day, your existence is completely gone. almost as though he’d hallucinated ten months of his life. as though you had never been real at all. 

there was no longer any trace of you in his world. 

SHANGHAI, CHINA: PRESENT TIME

💎 DO YOU LOVE ME? (CONT.) 💎

“i had to,” you admitted softly, your voice exhausted, “my father is a very powerful man, mark. and he wasn’t happy,” you laughed bitterly. 

“why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, eyes searching yours desperately, trying to understand it all, trying to get answers to questions he’s been repeatedly asking the sky, “i would’ve understood–i would’ve helped you, i would’ve–”

“because i wanted to feel it,” you whispered tiredly, your face losing all of its composure. you just looked heartbreakingly beautiful, “just once,” your voice trembled, “i wanted to feel it.”

he knows exactly what you’re referring to – that conversation in the library ringing back in his ears loud and clear. he knew now that you were afraid he wouldn’t have loved you if he knew who you were back then. 

and maybe that was true. maybe he would’ve reacted differently. maybe knowing who you were would’ve changed everything. maybe he would've been intimidated. maybe life wouldnt bring you together like this.

but standing here now, with the woman he loves standing in front of him – he didn’t care about the maybe’s.

he didn’t care about the past anymore. not when you were right here. 

“and did you?...feel it?” he asked softly. 

you smiled. and nodded. letting the tears finally fall.

mark steps closer, completely removes the space between you, his chest nearly brushing yours, never letting go of your wrist. he needed the physical connection to believe this was real. 

“i need to hear you say it,” his voice broke, eyes red now too, “…please. i need to hear you say you love me.”

the desperation in his voice was the key, unlocking the gates you had kept shut for half a decade. you melted, your strength vanishing as you clutched the fabric of his polo. 

“of course, i love you,” you sobbed, the words spilling out in a rush of grief and longing, “mark…i have never loved anyone but you. i–”

“marry me.”

your breath hitches at his interruption, searching his eyes for any trace of a lie, anything that says this was a momentary lapse in judgment. but all you saw was the same boy in that tiny twin size bed.

“that,” his voice cracked as he laughed helplessly, “that’s all i wanted to hear…that you love me,” he admits, leaning his forehead against yours, his eyes closing in relief and pain and love, all mixing together. 

“it’s the only requirement i was searching for. everything else doesn’t matter. just love me, and i’ll burn this whole house down to get you out of here.”

you looked up at him, your vision blurred by the tears that continued to trail down your cheeks. for the first time in years, the weight in your chest felt lighter. a small, fragile smile tugged at the corners of your lips, a flicker of the girl he knows emerging from the wreckage. 

“get me out of here then,” you whisper, your voice a broken, hopeful thread. 

mark let out another breathless disbelieving laugh. he reached up, his hands cupping your face gently, thumbs moving with tenderness, wiping away your tears. his eyes darken when they landed on the tiny, swollen cut on your lip. he didn’t want to hurt you. he wanted to heal you. 

when he finally leaned in, the kiss was slow, careful and devastatingly sweet. it wasn’t the desperate, hungry collision of two people who had been starved of each other – it was a promise. a quiet reclamation. 

for five years, your clock had stopped the moment you were forced to let him go. but as mark pulled you closer, molding your body against his, you felt the ice finally crack, the world rushing back in. 

time started moving again. 

💎 WELCOME HOME. 💎

mark’s penthouse was astonishing, high ceilings, floor-to-floor windows that framed the glittering tapestry of city lights that twinkled like fallen stars, picture frames of his family scattered around the place and a gigantic plush couch that looked infinitely more welcoming and comfortable than your own bed. 

you can’t stop looking around in awe, your eyes tracing the clean lines and the sophisticated yet homey decor. he had built this. all of this – the success, the luxury, the peace – he had achieved it on his own. 

“it’s not as big as your mansion, but…” he said, his voice sheepish, a trace of the humble boy from the university still lingering in his tone, “it’s home.”

“are you kidding?” you turned to him, a radiant smile breaking across your face, “i’ve always hated that place.”

you stepped towards him, the distance between you vanishing in a heartbeat as your arms slid around his neck, pulling him close, while his hands instinctively settles on your waist, his grip firm and possessive, as if he was making sure you could never drift away again.  

“i’m happy as long as you’re here.”

he didn’t need to hear another word. mark pulled you in, his mouth crashing against yours in a kiss that was soft and slow, yet humming with desperation. his tongue swiped across your bottom lip as he began to guide you backwards toward the couch, your lips never breaking contact, the kiss deepening into something hungrier, starving. 

as you moved, you reached up and pushed his blazer off his shoulders. he let it fall somewhere on the hardwood floor. the heat between you spiked, the urgency of your touches increasing as the back of your legs hit the arm of the couch. you sat on the edge of the armrest, tugging him toward you by his tie, pulling his face inches from yours. 

mark settled himself firmly between your parted legs, his large hands sliding to the small of your back to support you. you didn’t waste a second, your fingers working frantically to tug the tie from his collar, flinging it aside and focusing on unbuttoning his polo. when the shirt hit the floor, you let your hands wander, wanting to feel the heat of him – your palms slid over the hard planes of his chest, tracing down to his waist and the sculpted ridges of his abs. 

you pulled slightly away from the kiss, breathless and flushed, “when did you get abs?”

he let out a laugh, light and airy – an intoxicating drug.

“once i stopped eating all those packets of ramen,” he joked, his eyes sparkling. 

you laughed with him, the sound bubbling up from a place of pure joy, “god, i miss the buldak carbonara,” you groaned, looking up at him, “you know, i sometimes pretend i have meetings out of the city just so i could eat that in peace.”

he shook his head fondly, his gaze softening with an adoration that made your heart ache, “i would say i’d buy you all the buldak in the world…but it’s really not good for you, baby.”

the sound of the old nickname sent a swarm of butterflies erupting in your stomach and you can’t help but reach for him again, connecting your lips once more.

mark guides you to stand then, his hands sliding up your back until he found the zipper of your dress. in one smooth motion, he pulled it down, letting it slide off your skin, pooling around your ankles and leaving you standing before him in nothing but a matching pair of white lace underwear. 

“fuck…you’re so beautiful,” he groaned, his voice dropping an octave, thick with raw desire. he took in the sight of you – the curve of your hips, the softness of your breasts, the vulnerability in your eyes – looking at you with absolute worship. 

you love the way he looks at you.

a playful smile tugged at your lips as you reached down, hooking your finger through the belt loops of his trousers and pulling him flush against you. your fingers worked quickly, unbuttoning his pants and sliding the zipper down, letting the fabric join your dress in a heap on the floor. 

with a sudden, playful shove, you pushed him onto the couch. mark landed on his back, his legs sprawling, as he looked up at you with a teasing, hooded gaze. 

you crawled over him, your knees pinning his thighs, feeling the hard muscle of his legs beneath you. he didn’t wait for you to make the first move, his fingers combing into your hair to pull you down into a kiss that was wetter and more desperate than the last. it was all tongue, a frantic exchange of longing. 

while your lips remained locked, your hand wandered down, tugging his boxers off as he raised his hips up to help you. you gripped his cock, rubbing the length of him up and down. he was already half hard – the heat of him pulsing against your palm as you stroke him to fullness. mark let out a low, guttural groan into the kiss, his hips instinctively bucking upward, seeking more of your touch. 

you paused for a second, pulling away to quickly remove your underwear, the fabric already damp and stained with your juices. you tossed them aside without a glance, the cool air of the penthouse hitting your skin for only a second before you shifted, pushing his cock up to stand between your pussy lips so you could grind against it, trapping him against your heat and coating him with your wetness — the friction against your clit feeling so good. 

mark slid his hands behind his head and leaned back into the cushions, looking completely content, a tiny, wicked smirk on his lips as he watched you get lost in your own pleasure. 

“do you want to use a condom?” you asked, smiling at him, your voice already a bit breathless, your need for him all consuming. 

he quirked a brow, his eyes locked on yours. “you’re literally going to be my wife,” he says, sitting up suddenly, his arms bracing behind him to lift his torso so he could reach your lips again, “fuck the condoms.”

you smiled against the kiss, “once again…a very brilliant man, director,” you whispered, your voice sultry and hot. which makes mark’s cock twitch in your hand. you raise a brow, a triumphant look in your eyes to let him know that you noticed that. he can’t help but let out a low chuckle, a faint, boyish blush creeping up his cheeks despite his newfound confidence. 

that was a conversation for another day, right now – you were craving to feel him, your body screaming to be filled. you don’t waste another second, lining him up and sinking down on him in one motion. 

you were so wet, so needy, that your walls took him in greedily, stretching to accommodate his size. a loud, broken moan escaped you as you rolled your head back, spine arching as you felt him bottom out deep inside you. mark let out a sharp grunt, his eyes snapping shut as he felt the crushing, velvet heat of your walls clamping down on him. the feeling of skin on skin, almost overwhelming. 

“fuck–,” you whispered breathily, the senstaion almost too much to bear. you pushed him back down into the couch, your palms flat against his chest and began riding him in earnest. 

as you rocked against him, mark’s mind flashed back to that tiny twin-sized bed and the clumsy, tentative moments of two virgins trying to figure it out. back then, it had been a discovery, now – it was a reclamation.

he watched you, mesmerized by the way you moved, the confidence in your hips, the way you knew exactly how to tilt your body to maximize the friction. 

for a brief second, he wondered how you had become so skilled – but he couldn’t judge. he’s had his own share of one night stands. of nights spent with bodies trying to find what he only ever felt with you. 

“f-feels so good, mark–” you moaned loudly, the sound echoing in the room. 

he’s completely entranced, his gaze fixed on the sight of you riding him, your expression one of pure pleasure, the sounds coming from your lips adding to his desire.

his hands wandered up your sides, fingers expertly finding the clasp of your bra and with a practiced flick, he unhooked it. you let the straps slide off your shoulders, tossing the garment to the floor. mark surge upward, still letting you control the pace, but he wanted more. more of your noises. more of your body. more of you. 

he leaned in, his lips wrapping around your nipple, sucking it into his mouth with a hunger that made you cry out. he teased the sensitive bud with his tongue, swirling around it, almost as if he was making out with your breast – it was messy and wet, his saliva leaving glistening trails across your skin as he moved from one to the other, marking every part of you as his.

you gripped his back, nails digging into his skin, pulling him closer as your walls squeezed him even tighter with every touch, your hips instinctively rocking faster. 

“you’re so pretty, baby,” he groaned, looking up at you with hooded eyes and flushed lips, trailing kisses up to your collarbone and then your neck, his mouth latching onto the sensitive skin there. he sucked hard, creating deep, dark marks that would serve as a reminder of this evening. 

“keep riding me…just like that,” he whispered the praise into your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. 

mark’s hands slid down from your back to your hips, his fingers digging into your ass to take control, as he started guiding your movements – bouncing you harder, deeper, the sound of your bodies slapping against each other filling the quiet room. 

“i’m close–i’m so close–,” you moaned into his ear, your voice breaking. you felt him everywhere – the stretch of him inside you, the heat of his chest against yours, the scent of his skin filling your lungs. 

with a sudden surge of strength, mark flipped the positions – no stumbling this time, no hesitation. in one fluid motion, he had you on your back, hoisting your legs up and bending your knees to your shoulders, the angle steep and punishing, opening you up completely and allowing him to bottom out with a force that made you gasp. you swore you could feel the head of his cock pushing deep into your stomach. 

“oh, god!,” you yelled, the sound a mixture of a scream and a shattered moan. 

“not god…just me baby,” he grunts by your ear, his voice dark and teasing.

before you could even process the comment, he starts thrusting rapidly, driving into you with a raw, primal urgency. then – one of his hand pushed down on your lower stomach, increasing the friction to an unbearable level. 

it pushed you over the edge – your eyes rolling back into your head, toes curling tightly as a wave of heat spread from your core to your fingertips. without warning, your orgasm crashed over you, hard and fast, your pussy clamping down on him in a series of intense spasms, as you sobbed his name. 

mark didn’t stop. he kept driving into you, letting you ride the peak of your high, prolonging the ecstasy. then finally, with a guttural grunt and a deep final thrust that seemed to fuse your bodies together, he spilled deep inside you, groaning loudly into your ear as his entire body shuddered, collapsing on top of you, the weight of him a comforting pressure. 

for a while, the only sound in the penthouse was the ragged sound of your shared breathing. the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat. 

a small, breathless laugh eventually bubbled out of your lips, “holy shit–,” you whispered, your voice raspy, “that…was amazing. where the hell did you learn how to do that?”

mark let out a low chuckle, lifting his head just enough to look at you, a smug, playful grin on his lips, “where did you?” he countered, his voice still deep from the high. 

you bit your lip, hiding a guilty smile as you looked away, “i don’t know what you mean.”

he rolled his eyes playfully, earning a real laugh from you, your eyes crinkling – the sound was music to his ears – a sound of genuine happiness that had been missing for far too long. 

“i love you.”

your heart felt whole again as you reached up, cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing over his skin, “i love you too, markie.”

💎 IT’S YOURS. 💎

as you lay half on top of him, your leg curled around his thigh, you felt a profound sense of peace. mark’s fingers were drawing slow, lazy circles on the small of your back, his touch light and grounding. you felt completely content, the world outside fading into insignificance. 

you swore you could stay on this couch forever, tangled together and naked, skin to skin, listening to his heartbeat – a sound that belonged entirely to you. 

but then, a sudden realization flickered in your mind, breaking the comfortable silence, “oh shit.”

“what?” he asks, his fingers pausing their movement.

“uhm–you left chenle to do the presentation,” you pointed out, lifting your head to look at him. 

mark froze. he took a deep, slow breath and you could practically see the gears turning as reality slapped him in the face.

“awe, fuck,” he groaned, closing his eyes, “he’s so gonna fire me.”

a tiny giggle escaped you, “don’t they give out warnings? i mean, they all keep saying you’re the best on the team, i’m sure he can let it slide.”

“yeah,” he replied, a sheepish, lopsided smile tugging at his lips, “except, i’m kind of already on his last straw.”

you quip a brow, waiting for the story there.

he scrunched his nose, looking embarrassed, “i almost killed his wife last year,” he admits. 

“what?!”

“it was an accident!” he defended, though he looked slightly pained, “i didn’t know she was severely allergic to kiwis and i used a concentrated kiwi extract in one of the new vitamin product prototypes we were testing…she had a reaction.”

“ohhhh, so that’s what happened,” you say in awe, the pieces of a puzzle clicking into place, “i remember that week…the azur team sent over so many flowers and get-well cards wishing her a speedy recovery.”

mark sighed, the sound heavy with regret. you looked at him, your heart aching with a sudden urge of protectiveness as your hand trailed slowly along his jawline, fingers grazing his lips.

as if magnetically drawn to you, his lips followed your touch, pressing a soft, lingering kiss into the center of your palm, making you smile.

“well…” you started, voice soft, “if you still want to work for them, you can–i’ll make a phone call to smooth things over. but mark…once we're married, you know you don’t have to anymore, right?”

he blinked, looking up at you. 

“you could start your own company,” you continued, “be your own boss.”

the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. up until this moment, his entire world had been centered on the simple, desperate need to have you back in his life, to hold you and keep you safe. the idea of power, status and leadership all felt so distant. 

“you know i’m not marrying you for the money or the business, right?” he said softly, his gaze searching yours, making sure you understood that his love was untainted by ambition. 

you nodded, a tender smile playing on your lips, “i know,” you whispered.

“but all of it comes with marrying me…this world–the resources, the influence–it’s yours now, too.”

he took a deep inhale, the scent of you filling his lungs. for a moment, he thought about the weight of that world – the pressure, the expectations. but as he looked at you, he realized it didn’t scare him. this life he was about to step into didn’t feel like a burden because he wouldn’t be facing it alone. 

there was only one thing mark was absolutely sure of – he never wanted to be at the top if you weren’t there beside him.

“it’s gonna be weird being on the same level as mr. zhong,” he joked, a playful glint returning to his eyes, “but i think i’ll survive…as long as you’re here.”

you giggled, the sound bright and melodic and leaned in to capture his lips again, soft and playful and filled with the promise of a future where neither of you ever had to say goodbye again. 

💎 FAMILY. 💎

the days leading up to the wedding were a whirlwind of absolute chaos. you had finally played your hand with your father, telling him with a cold, unwavering certainty that you would push through the wedding he had meticulously planned – just not with the groom he had chosen. 

surprisingly, he hadn’t fought you. there were no shouting matches, no dramatic ultimatum. instead, he had retreated into an oppressive silence but the air between you remained thick with a quiet simmering tension – you could feel his disapproval like a physical weight, that familiar cold draft that followed you through the halls of the mansion. 

mark lee wasn’t a billionaire heir nor did he possess the kind of ancestral wealth your father craved for in a son-in-law. however, mark had a sterling, respected reputation. the industry adores him. he was the standard of talent and integrity. and your father was just going to have to be okay with that.

but to ensure your father couldn’t manipulate the narrative or find a way to sabotage the union, you took the ultimate gamble. you reached out to the media and announced your engagement to the world. the public’s reaction was a symphony of opinions – some were supportive, calling it a triumph of love over tradition. others whispered that mark was the luckiest man alive, while a cynical few wondered if he had somehow manipulated a wealthy heiress into choosing him. some even framed it as a modern-day cinderella story. 

none of it mattered though. the noise of the world was nothing compared to the silence of the penthouse, where you ended every single night wrapped in his arms, the only place where you truly felt safe. 

mark had facetimed his family in a frantic, nervous burst of energy, explaining the suddenness of it all and letting them know he was marrying you in a week. the initial shock had been palpable–the wide eyes, the stunned silences–but it had quickly melted into a wave of understanding and warmth. they didn't care about the scandal or the social standing. they only cared that the light had returned to their son’s eyes. 

they had all flown in last night, filling the penthouse with a sudden warm energy. his parents claimed one bedroom, his brother in another and you and mark remained in the master suite. 

the rich, savory scent of breakfast drifted through the air, gently coaxing you from your slumber. you opened your yes to find mark still deep in sleep beside you, his steady, warm breathing brushed against your ear, his arm draped lightly across your waist. you watched the peaceful expression on his face, before pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. 

slipping out of bed carefully, you padded downstairs until you reached the kitchen. 

“it smells incredible, mrs. lee,” you commented softly, leaning against the island counter and watching her move with effortless grace around the stove. 

“oh, dear!,” she turns towards you, her face lighting up. you didn’t get a chance to catch up last night, everyone too tired from their flights. 

mrs. lee looked at you with that same sparkle in her eyes – the same unconditional warmth she had shown you five years ago. it was as if she had completely erased the memory of the heartbreak you’d caused, as if she hadn’t witnessed mark slowly wither and lose himself during the years you were gone. she didn’t see a girl who had broken her son. she only saw the woman who had finally brought him back to life. 

“you need to stop calling me mrs. lee,” she said, her voice sweet and firm, “we’re family now. you should call me mom.”

the word brought a sudden, overwhelming rush of emotions you tried to hold back but it was too late – the tears spilled over, hot and fast, trailing down your cheeks. a shaky, broken smile touching your lips.

for so long, family had been a word associated with fear, control and coldness. to have it offered so freely, so tenderly, felt like a miracle. 

“oh…none of that, sweetheart,” she murmured even though her own eyes were starting to water. 

she stepped towards you, carefully wiping your tears away with a maternal tenderness that made your heart ache, “you’ve done enough crying in your life, okay?”

she leaned in and pressed a warm kiss to your temple, “come on, i’ll teach you how to make my secret fried chicken recipe…it’s mark’s favorite, you know?” she gave you a playful wink, gesturing for you to join her deeper in the kitchen. 

you followed her, your steps light, the heavy armor you had worn for years finally falling away. as you stood beside her, learning and listening to her stories about a young, clumsy mark, you felt the jagged edges of your soul beginning to smooth over.

your heart was healing, one small, loving step at a time. 

💎 THE PROMISE. 💎

“your mom taught me how to make kimchi fried rice today,” you murmured in the quiet of your shared bedroom. this has become your sacred ritual since moving into the penthouse – just the two of you, facing each other, sharing your day. 

“how was that?” mark asks, a small, knowing smile on his lips. this was his favorite part of the day. the noise of the wedding planning, the lingering tension with your father and the chaos of the public eye all vanished when you were here. 

his hand rested firmly on your waist, while yours lay lightly over his chest. 

“hmm…,” you pout slightly, looking at him, “considering i somehow managed to burn the rice…it might take a while,” you sigh, earning a chuckle from him, “i’m pretty sure your mom wanted to yell at me.”

mark huffs a breath, “please, she’s obsessed with you,” he teased, his eyes softening, “you could mess up a hundred more meals and she’ll still think you’re the most perfect person in the world.”

you beamed at that, the warmth spreading through your chest. 

“what did you do today?” you asked, shifting your focus to him.

“well,” he began, his voice tinged with a bittersweet edge, “i handed in my resignation letter.”

the room went still for a moment. he had been with the company nearly eight years. he had poured his youth, his intellect and his passion into that career. leaving was a heavier transition than he had anticipated. 

“what did the zhong’s say?”

“well, mrs. zhong told me to tell you that she can’t believe you would take her favorite researcher away,” he teases, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

you rolled your eyes, letting out a giggle, “god, she’s going to hold that over my head for years.”

but as the laughter faded, you looked up at him, your expression turning tender. 

you began drawing slow, absent-minded heart shapes on his shirt, “how do you feel about it, though?”

“honestly? a little sad,” he admitted, his voice dropping an octave, “i’ve been there a long time. some of those people are practically family. it feels like closing a chapter of my life. but…” he paused, pulling you a fraction closer, his gaze intensifying, “-i’m ready for a change…for a life where i don’t have to answer to anyone but you,” he teases softly. 

you leaned up, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, “you’ll be amazing at whatever you do next. i know you will.”

“thanks, baby,” he whispered against your lips. 

“did you do anything else?”

“mhm,” he hums, his hand sliding from your waist to your cheek, “i went to suit fittings with dad and hyung for the wedding. oh! and then–”

in one smooth motion, he tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his fingers gliding down the line of your jaw and as he pulled back slightly, he revealed something he had been hiding in his palm–

a ring. 

the most beautiful ring you’ve ever seen – the massive, marquise-cut diamond that captured every stray beam of light in the room, sparkling like the snowflakes from that christmas day. 

your breath hitched, your heart pounding as you locked eyes with him, “-what”

“i told you i’d put a real ring on this finger someday, baby,” he whispered, reaching out and gently taking your left hand in his. with a steady hand and a look of absolute devotion, he slid the band onto your wedding finger. it clicked into place – a perfect fit.

“you still remember that?” you whispered, your voice cracking with emotion. 

he took your hand, the one now adorned with the diamond, and pressed it firmly against his chest, right over his beating heart. 

“y/n, i don’t think you realize…i haven’t forgotten a single thing when it comes to you.”

a wet laugh escaped you as tears of pure joy spilled over, “you can’t keep charming me like this, markie,” you whined, though you were leaning into him. 

he quirked a brow, a playful smirk dancing on his lips, “and why not?”

“because,” you pouted, your voice dropping an octave as you looked at his mouth, “it just makes me want to jump your bones every time.”

mark’s laugh was loud and genuine, a sound of pure happiness that echoed in the quiet room. his hand slid from your waist to the small of your back, puling you even closer, “i am definitely not opposed to that.”

he crashed his lips onto yours, starting with a kiss that was soft and slow, a tender acknowledgment of the promise he had just placed on your finger.

but the tenderness quickly ignited into something more primal. in one motion, he shifted his weight, turning you onto your back and hovering over you. 

he reached down, gripping the hem of the oversized t-shirt you were wearing – his shirt. you preferred wearing it over the expensive silk pajamas. he pulled it over your head and didn’t waste a second as his lips began a slow, torturous descent, trailing kisses down the sensitive curve of your neck to the hollow of your collarbone. 

you let out a shaky breath, your eyes fluttering shut as he moved lower, his lips sucking firmly on each nipple, tongue swirling around the peaks until you were arching your back, a sweet, needy moan escaping you, your eyes closed, basking in the growing pleasure. 

he continued placing kisses down your body, across your stomach, his breath hot against your skin until he reached your thighs. he didn’t strip you yet, instead, licking you through your underwear, his face against the thin fabric of your panties, already damp with your arousal. 

“fuck–i missed this,” he groaned, the sound muffled against your heat.

he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and slid them down your legs frantically. the moment you were bare, he buried his face in your pussy, his tongue finding your clit. he ate you out like a man who had been starved for a lifetime, his tongue flicking and swirling, drinking you in. 

you whined, your hand immediately going down to clutch his hair, your hips bucking instinctively, pussy aching for more. you opened your eyes, breathless, watching the sight below you – so holy and unholy all at once – this sight of this respected, disciplined man reduced to a craving animal between your legs, while the diamond ring on your finger sparkled under the light. 

“mark–mark–,” you moaned, your voice breaking. you tugged lightly on his head, needing him to stop the torture, “i need you…please. i need you inside me now.”

he surged back up to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on him as he undressed himself quickly. he paused for a moment, his hand wrapping around his pulsing cock, pumping it a few times as he looked deep into your eyes, his gaze dark with possessiveness – and god, you swore he belonged in an art gallery only for your viewing. 

without warning, he guided himself to your entrance and slid in in one deep, powerful thrust. the air left your lungs in a sharp gaps against his lips as he filled you completely. 

but this wasn’t like the night on the couch. this was sweet, slow and deep–a rhythm that both of your bodies needed tonight. the room was filled with the harmony of your shared moans and whines. mark moved with a deliberate pace, each thrust rubbing that sensitive spot inside, his eyes never leaving yours. 

as the tension built, you reached out with your left hand, finding his right, and slotting your fingers through his, locking your palms together. mark’s gaze drops to where your fingers entwined, staring at the ring – the shimmering symbol that you were truly his, and that he was yours, forever. 

the sight of it seemed to trigger something in him. he lifts one of your legs up higher before his rhythm shifted – more urgent, more demanding – driving into with you a raw intensity, his breath coming in ragged gasps. 

“you’re mine,” he whispered, “my wife. my everything.”

his words were your undoing. the pressure in your core exploded as you moaned his name, body tightening around him, pulling him deeper, pushing mark over his own edge. he lets out a primal grunt, his muscles locking as he filled you with his warmth, pouring everything he had into you. 

💎 FREE. 💎

you never had a dream wedding. you didn’t care for the date or the bouquet or the theme that planners had spent months perfecting. you didn’t even care about your wedding dress. 

the only detail that mattered, the only thing that kept your heart beating – is the man at the end of the aisle.

he was the only dream you’ve ever had. a dream you thought would never come true. 

the first chords of the piano drifted through the air, a beautiful melody that signaled your entrance. the sound pulled you out of your thoughts and into the present. 

“father,” you said, your voice steady as you gave a respectful bow. 

it was only natural that he would walk you down the aisle – he had an image to maintain, a legacy of the perfect family to project to the influential vultures gathered in the room. but as you looked up, you froze. 

for the first time in twenty-six years, the ice in his gaze had thawed. he looked at you with a softness that felt alien, an expression of tenderness you didn’t think he was capable of feeling. 

“you look like your mother,” he whispers, his voice sill carrying that stern, authoritative edge, but it was accompanied by something fragile, “-beautiful,” he added. 

you gave him a small, tentative smile. that single sentence couldn’t erase the pain, the silence or the years of emotional damage, but in that moment, the acknowledgement felt like a bridge. it affected you more than it should have, a tiny spark of healing in a wasteland of trauma. 

“thank you.”

he extended his hand then, and as you looped your arm through his, the towering double doors finally swung open. the venue was a sea of opulence. hundreds of strangers, flashing cameras of reporters, the zhong family, tha na’s, the park’s – the people of the social hierarchy you had spent your life navigating. they were all there, a blur of expensive perfume and calculated smiles. 

mark lee felt as if he was witnessing a miracle. after the years of silence, the agony of your disappearance, and the desperate uncertainty of your reunion, he had almost convinced himself this was all just one big hallucination. 

but there you were – ethereal, radiant, and walking toward him with a gaze that promised he would never have to lose you again. 

he tried to maintain his composure, to be the poised man the world knew, but as you drew closer – a single tear escaped, rolling down his cheek. he didn’t even bother wiping it away. he let it fall, a silent testament to the depth of his love. 

the ceremony was a blur of tradition and formality but it felt beautiful for one reason only – you were marrying the man you love. 

while the officiant spoke of love and commitment, your hands were locked together, fingers squeezing tight. you had insisted that the vows be private, refusing to perform your most intimate truths for an audience of people who only knew the masks you wore. you wanted your promises to be a secret shared between two souls, a sacred pact that belonged to no one else. 

when the moment finally arrived, the air seemed to vibrate. 

“i do,” you whispered, the words feeling like a liberation. 

“i do,” mark replied, his voice thick with emotion, as if he were claiming his entire world in two words. 

as the officiant pronounced you husband and wife, mark didn’t hesitate – he pulled you in, his shaking hand cupping your jaw softly and crashed his lips onto yours.

a kiss of desperation, of victory, and a promise of unconditional love. 

the crowd erupted in cheers, the applause thundering through the venue, but the sound was distant. all you could feel was him and the crushing happiness in your chest – a feeling so intense it almost hurt. for the frist time in your life, you weren’t an heiress, a daughter or a corporate assets. 

you were simply home. 

and you were finally free. 

💎 A NEW CHAPTER. 💎

“what are you thinking about?” 

mark’s voice was soft against the darkness, his fingers tracing lazy circles against your hip as he noticed your eyes were somewhere far away. 

four years into marriage and your late night talks were still standing strong. still in the penthouse. people often wondered why the two of you never moved into a mansion. with your wealth, you could have owned entire neighborhoods if you wanted to. but neither of you ever found a reason to leave yet. the penthouse was more than enough for only the two of you. 

“i think i’m ready,” you finally say, meeting his gaze.

mark’s hand pauses, his eyes, always observant, immediately sparkling, “love.”

the nickname is more mature now. somewhere along the way, baby started sounding too baby-ish. 

“ready for what?” he asks softly even though he already knows. nobody knew you better than him. he just wanted to hear it.

a smile appeared on your lips as you leaned in, “let’s have a baby, director.”

the past four years have been a period of adjustment. 

after the wedding, your father gradually stepped away from azur, leaving the empire to the two of you. and together, you made it greater than ever. people often joked that putting two terrifying geniuses in charge of one company should’ve been illegal, your combined intellect was a force of nature that left competitors scrambling in your wake. 

and while helping you lead azur – mark, with his continued love for his work, also started his own company, pursuing a passion that spoke to the very core of his integrity. he had dedicated his company to making scientifically proven, high-grade vitamins and supplements accessible to every family, regardless of income. 

the critics had been vicious at first, mocking him behind closed doors and saying things like, “he’s married into one of the richest families in asia and he’s spending his time on affordable healthcare? what a waste of a mind.”

mark had always responded with that same, effortless shroud, a confident glint in his eyes. “i spent eight years making products rich people don’t need,” he would tell them, his voice calm and unwavering, “i’d rather spend the next forty making products all families do.” 

the laughter had died out quickly, replaced by profound respect. the world stopped mocking him and started listening. they began to call him “the people’s scientist,” a title that made your heart swell with so much pride. 

every time you saw him on a magazine cover or heard him speak at a conference, you fell for him all over again – not for the prestige, but for the man who refused to let this world harden his heart. 

these last four years had belonged entirely to the two of you – it has been a season of loving, of learning the messy parts of each other’s personalities, and the sweetness of quiet mornings. there has been the first real fights, too. mark was always the first to give in, not because he was weak, but because he couldn’t stand seeing you so upset. 

and due to the sheer momentum of your careers and the time spent with each other – children had never been a priority. you had ignored the relentless prying of the media, the pointed questions from your father and even mom lee’s playful threats to simply adopt grandchildren herself. it was more a “if it happens, it happens,” kind of thing. 

and strangely enough, the universe seemed content to let you bask in each other’s undivided attention. there had only been one pregnancy scare last year which turned out to be a stomach bug. but you still remembered the look in your husband’s eyes – pure joy. you knew then that mark had been ready, he was simply waiting for you. 

“y-you’re serious?!”

the smile breaking across his face was so radiant, it felt like the sun had risen inside the bedroom. he looked younger when he smiled like that. like the boy who bought you ramen. the boy who promised you a ring. the boy who taught you what home felt like. 

you nodded, “one hundred percent.”

he looked downright giddy, his cheeks flushing as his smile widened. before you could say another word, he was hovering over you, peppering your face with kisses, your shared laughter ringing in the room.

for a fleeting second, the years collapsed – you’re twenty-one again, tucked away in his childhood bedroom, looking at a marker drawn ring on your finger and listening to him promise you forever. 

except now – you’ve lived the forever. and it has been beautiful.  

mark pulled back just an inch, his eyes dark with a mixture of love and sudden, sharp desire. he smiled softly, his voice dropping an octave–

“can we start trying now?”

you giggled against his lips, your hands sliding down to grip his waist, pulling him flush against you. 

“i was hoping you’d say that,” you teased, before pulling him down to seal the promise with a kiss that tasted like a new chapter. 

💎 THE CHRISTMAS GIFT. 💎

it wasn’t long after that conversation when you got pregnant.

mark, ever the scientist, approached the prospect of fatherhood with the same meticulous devotion he gave to his research – researching everything – the best positions for conception, the nutritional supplements to support your health, even tracking your ovulation cycle that somehow felt like the most intimate form of foreplay. he made it a game, a secret shared between your bodies, making sure the process never felt like a chore. 

honestly, the whole process had been almost too easy. it felt as though the universe had finally stopped testing you, finally treating you with a kindness that felt like a warm embrace. 

it’s christmas eve now and the air in the kitchen of your new mansion was thick with the scnet of chocolate, melted butter and vanilla. you were leaning against the marble countertop, your breath coming a little shorter than usual, very much pregnant and glowing in the soft light. you were baking cookies with your favorite person in the world – mark’s mom (sorry mark).

the transition from the penthouse to the new mansion had been a mutual decision the moment the pregnancy test turned positive. as much as you loved your glass sanctuary in the sky, neither of you wanted to navigate elevators and lobbies with a stroller and a new infant. you needed space – gardens for the baby to run in, a nursery filled with sunlight. 

christmas had become your sacred tradition ever since the wedding. you smiled, remembering the first year – the chaotic energy of you and mark struggling with a a tangled mess of lights, laughing until you cried as you accidentally draped the ornaments over each other instead of the tree. it had been a disaster then. but now, the two of you were experts, though mark had taken over the heavy lifting this year, considering you were in your ninth month, barely able to see your own toes and moving with a slow, careful waddle.

the baby was due any day now. you and mark had made a pact to keep the gender a secret – the suspense was a gift you wanted to open in the delivery room. whether it was a daughter with your eyes or a son with mark’s smile, it didn't matter.

from the living room, the muffled sounds of the lee men drifted in as they watched a rerun of a basketball game. their cheers and occasional boisterous booing echoed through the halls, a soundtrack of energy that made you giggle softly to yourself.

your father had stopped by earlier too. the man who had once been the architect of your misery had evolved, slowly. he had arrived with a lavishly wrapped gift for his soon-to-be grandchild, his expression softened by a rare, fragile kind of hope. you knew, deep down, that a part of his affection was tied to the idea of a legacy – the desire for a grandson to carry the name and the empire. but for the first time in your life, you didn't let that thought get to you.

you were the one in control now. you were the one holding the future inside you.

but the future decided it was tired of waiting. 

a sharp, sudden inhale hitched in your throat as a contraction ripped through your abdomen, far more intense than the dull aches that had been simmering all day. for hours, they had been mere whispers – gentle reminders that the baby was getting ready. but this was different. this was a roar.

“oh—god,” you moaned, your knuckles turning white as you gripped the edge of the marble counter. the world seemed to tilt for a second, and then came the unmistakable, warm rush of fluid – your water had broken, trickling down your leg and pooling on the kitchen floor.

mark’s mother, who had been humming a holiday tune while sliding the cookie trays into the oven, spun around. her eyes dropped to the floor and then snapped back to your face. despite the suddenness, she remained the anchor in the storm, rushing to your side to wrap a supportive arm around your shoulders.

“oh, dear,” she whispered, her voice a mixture of maternal calm and bubbling excitement.

panic seized you. you had read the books, watched the videos, and listened to the doctors, but nothing could have prepared you for the raw, visceral reality of the moment. 

“mark!” his mother’s voice rang out, cutting through the sounds of the basketball game in the other room, “it’s happening!” the shout was loud enough to stop the living room in its tracks. 

she looked back at you, her eyes shimmering with a joy that was contagious, “it’s happening, sweetheart. your little one is coming.”

a small, breathless laugh escaped you, a strange mixture of terror and exhilaration, even as another wave of pain rolled over you, forcing a groan from your lips.

then came the whirlwind – mark practically ran into the kitchen, his socks sliding on the hardwood. his eyes were wide, mirroring your own panic, his expression a chaotic blend of i'm ready and i'm absolutely terrified.

“it’s happening!? now!?" he exclaimed, jogging toward you.

as you let out a sharp yelp of pain, his protective instincts kicked in instantly. he stepped into your space, his presence a familiar, grounding warmth.

“okay, okay, it’s happening! everyone stay calm. deep breaths, love,” he commanded, though his voice trembled slightly, and he was breathing almost as fast as you were.

he took your hand, his fingers interlocking with yours. with a focused intensity, he guided you slowly toward the door, shouting for johnny to get the car ready. the bags – meticulously packed and checked three times by mark – were already in the trunk.

the ride to the hospital was a blur of mark’s soft voice reminding you to breathe and the rhythmic thumping of your heart.

your hospital suite was the pinnacle of luxury – soft linens, dimmable lights, and a silence that felt sacred. outside the heavy doors, the lee family and your father waited, a rare gathering united by a single, breathless anticipation.

the hours that followed were the hardest of your life, it seemed like your baby didn’t want to leave yet.

as the clock ticked closer to the end of christmas day, the pain reached a crescendo that felt insurmountable. you held mark’s hand with a strength that likely left bruises, tears streaming down your face, your voice raw from the effort.

through it all, mark was your strength. he stayed with you, whispering soft, desperate praises into your ear – “you’re so strong, love. just a little more. you got this. i love you so much.” 

and then, in a final, agonizing surge of effort, the last hour of christmas day – the tension finally snapped – a sharp, piercing cry filled the room, a sound so beautiful it made it all worth it. the silence of the hospital room was shattered by the first breath of your child.

mark didn't look at your baby first. he looked at you. his face was wet with tears, his expression one of pure awe.

“you did so well, love,” he whispered, his voice cracking. he pressed a lingering, tender kiss to your temple, his hand trembling as he stroked your cheek. you closed your eyes, a wave of profound relief washing over you, squeezing his hand one last time to tell him that you were okay.

then, the nurses placed the tiny, warm bundle onto your chest. the moment the baby’s skin touched yours, the world ceased to exist. the pain, the exhaustion, the fear – it all evaporated, replaced by an overwhelming, crushing weight of love that felt too large for your heart to hold. 

you looked down at the small face, the tiny fingers curling instinctively, the baby already had mark’s nose…so pretty.

then you looked up at your husband. he was staring at the baby, then at you, his eyes shimmering with a love so deep.

he leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that tasted of salt and sweetness, a seal on the new life you had created together.

“thank you,” he murmured against your lips, the words a sacred vow, “i love you both so much.”

💎 THE END 💎

an: 🥹🥹🥹 and this is the endddddd! i want what they got so much but only if the guy is actually mark lee hehe…. they're so sickeningly in love it makes me want to throw up. i wonder how it feels to love someone this much. shoutout to miss olivia rodrigo for dropping yspsfagsil while i was writing this, it helped so much! anyways, i loved writing this story. it really felt like i was honoring mark in some way, i hope that was able to translate well <33 AND OF COURSE, OUR FUN LITTLE GAME!!!!!!! - CAN YOU GUESS THE BABY'S GENDER?! leave your guesses below! and let me know how you're feeling! thank you so so much for taking the time to read this <3333

p.s. the ring in this header is the ring mark got for her <3

EXTRA: GENDER REVEAL PARTY

💍 likes, reblogs, and comments are not required but is very appreciated

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💍 wedding guest list: @untitledtyun @myrainbowgelpen @girloftherem @lovelacedty @flowerpote @m8rkers @neotannies @ajjunicesblog @youronlysunn @jungwooie @marksjpg @aikiis @lrigrevol @younghoscoffee @119dream @mystverse @euijoosrighttoenail @yayayawnnz @kailorhyuck @reallybigproblem @kitkatky123 @run2gyu

“mrs. zhong,” you greet warmly, approaching the woman of the hour, surrounded by reporters and company executives. your eyes flicker down briefly to the visible curve beneath her gold silk dress before returning to face her with a smile, “congratulations on the pregnancy.”

the smile on her face softened instantly, “thank you,” she says, one hand resting over her stomach. 

“it’s all anyone’s been talking about lately,” you tease lightly, “well–that and this launch,” you gesture around the ballroom, “azur is very excited to officially add yü’s new vitamin line into our stores.”

at the mention of azur, several nearby executives straighten. of course they do. azur’s luxury department stores practically dictated what became successful across asia. if a product received premium placement in your stores, sales skyrocketed overnight. 

“ms. y/n,” she says warmly, slipping easily into her public persona, “we’re incredibly grateful to continue working with azur.”

you exchanged practiced corporate smiles for the people listening nearby. perfect. elegant. professional. the life of the rich and wealthy. exactly what the cameras wanted. but the second the reporters drift away, your smiles melt into something real – you were childhood friends, after all. 

“my back is actually killing me,” she mutters under her breath.

you nearly laugh, “why are you here anyway?,” you whisper back, “shouldn’t you be at home…resting? chenle’s handling everything pretty well.”

“he’s perfect,” she sighs dramatically, a woman so in love with her husband you can’t help but feel a little envious, “but apparently revealing my belly for the first time at this event was ‘excellent publicity.’”

you snort quietly into your champagne glass, “romance and a baby,” you murmur, “the media must be thrilled. 

“they’re obsessed,” she deadpans, “every time i’m even standing next to chenle, they follow us like vultures.”

your laughter slips out this time. “well,” you tell her sincerely, “you look absolutely beautiful.”

her expression melts instantly, “stop,” she pouts, lower lip jutting out slightly, “you’re gonna make me emotional.”

then suddenly–

“oh, mark!”

your heart stops. it wasn’t even intentional, just instinct – the name alone sends something sharp and knowing through your chest before you can control it. you slowly turn around. 

“yes, ma’am.”

his voice hits first. low, steady and grounding. it was a voice that had consumed your memories, a sound that triggered a flood of familiarity.  

and then you finally see…him.

mark lee stands a few feet away in a black suit, one hand holding a tablet against his side, eyes landing on mrs. zhong first – and then on you. 

the change in his expression was microscopic, invisible to anyone who didn’t know the map of his face. but you noticed. you notice everything about him. the way his pupils dilated, the slight hitch in his breathing and the almost imperceptible tremor in his posture as the reality of your presence crashed into him. 

mrs. zhong beamed, blissfully oblivious to the sudden, suffocating tension that had snapped into place between you. 

“y/n,” she says, turning toward you excitedly, “meet director mark lee, the brilliant mind behind our vitamin research and development team.” then she turns toward him, “mark, this is the heir of azur. their department stores will be leading the distribution for our new vitamin line.”

your eyes remained locked on his, a silent, intense collision as mrs. zhong continues speaking enthusiastically beside you. she goes on and on about mark being one of the company’s greatest assets, detailing his research contributions and how hard the company worked to keep him from rival corporations. 

but you didn’t hear a single word. 

because mark is staring at you too. his eyes are somewhere between shock and disbelief, like he’s still trying to figure out if you’re actually standing here in front of him or he’s materialized his hallucinations.

only one thought crossed your mind-

you want him. 

you are going to marry him. 

no one else. 

as mrs. zhong finally trailed off, you stepped forward, the silk of your midnight blue dress gliding with every move. you extended your hand towards him,  “nice to meet you, director mark.”

for the briefest moment, his gaze drops to your hand, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. then he takes it, warm and steady, a stark difference to the turmoil evident in his eyes. 

“you too, ms. y/n,” he replies politely. too politely. he sounded like a stranger with his voice polished and careful, wrapped in a layer of professional distance that felt like a slap to the face. you hated it. you hated the wall he was building between you in real time. 

before the silence between you can stretch any further, mrs. zhong let out a soft giggle, “i think my husband needs rescuing.” 

you follow her gaze to see zhong chenle trapped in a conversation with a group of investors, subtly trying to signal her over without looking desperate. she looks between the two of you, amusement flickering in her eyes. 

“i’ll leave you both to it,” she says casually before turning toward mark, “director, you can explain everything y/n needs to know about the vitamin, it’ll help azur with the marketing campaign.”

mark straightens his posture instantly, the habit of a dedicated employee taking over, “yes, ma’am”

and just like that, she disappears into the gold-lit crowd, leaving you alone with him. 

for a moment, neither of you say anything. the music from the ballroom swells softly beneath the low hum of conversations and clinking glasses, but the silence between you feels louder than all of it. 

you tilt your head slightly, a slow, amused smile playing on your lips as you let your gaze wander over the sharp line of his jaw. 

“director, huh?” you murmured, your voice dropping an octave. 

mark clears his throat. suddenly, the brilliant researcher everyone spent the night praising seems to completely lose his footing. because now that it’s just the two of you, he can’t even hide it anymore. the shock. the confusion. the realization. 

he’s having a hard time wrapping his head around who you actually are. 

and you can tell by the way he stutters. mark lee never used to stutter…unless he was nervous. 

“y-yeah,” he nodded quickly, his eyes darting away for a split second before snapping back to yours, “i–uh–”

cute. 

“you did it,” you tell him softly, the corporate mask sliding away to reveal genuine warmth, a soft smile on your lips reserved for only one person in this room.

that simple acknowledgment acted like a catalyst. mark stopped glancing around the room and finally looked at you properly for the first time tonight. in an instant, the noise of the ballroom faded into a hum as he’s immediately transported to five years ago.

back when you were just – you.

not the heir to a multi-billion dollar empire. 

“uhm–uhm–,” mark stammered, frantically pulling up his tablet like he’s trying to find his ground, “so…our new vitamin line…”

he was retreating. trying to claw his way back into professionalism because that’s safer than acknowledging whatever this is. he starts explaining the product launch but you weren’t listening. because all you can do is look at him. 

he’s older now. the boy you met five years ago is replaced by someone sharper. more refined. more composed. his face had matured, his black suit clinging to his broad shoulders perfectly, his glasses gone, his eye lines more prominent, you wonder how many times he’s laughed over the years for those lines to appear. he still has the same moles on his cheeks. still has the same deep brown eyes you fell in love with before you even realized what it was. and despite everything that’s changed, looking at him still felt like coming home. 

without warning, you cut him off completely. 

“follow me, mark.”

his voice immediately dies off. mark looks up from the tablet just in time to see you already turning away, your gown swirling around your ankles as you led the way. then, after only a second of hesitation, he follows. it almost annoys you that he does so without a single protest because it highlights the difference between the two of you– 

you are the heir to retail conglomerate that could crush his career with a single phone call, the daughter to one of the most powerful men in asia.

and mark, no matter how brilliant, respected, or successful he became – is still an employee. 

you led him up the grand staircase toward the private balcony overlooking the ballroom below. the music grows quieter the further you climb, the golden lights dimmer up here, the crowd downstairs far too busy with networking to notice the two of you sneaking away. 

the cold night air brushes against your skin as you stop near the railing. 

behind you, mark exhales a long, shaky breath, “y/n?”

the way he says your name nearly destroys you. it’s the exact same way he used to say it five years ago in seoul. careful. soft. laced with a tenderness that treated your name like something precious. 

“i can’t believe this,” he whispered, voice trembling, “you didn’t tell me you were–”

“marry me.”

silence. 

complete and utter silence. 

mark froze. and this time, he doesn’t even try to hide the shock on his face. his eyes widen almost immediately as if his brain stopped functioning for a second, looking at you as if you had just spoken a language he didn’t understand. 

💎 THE GHOST FROM HIS PAST. 💎

mark feels like he’s hallucinating. because there is absolutely no way this is real. no way the ghost from his past just reappeared in thin air, draped in couture and smelling of expensive perfume to dismantle the carefully constructed walls of his life with one proposal.

literally…whose dream is this?

his heart hammers against his ribs like a trapped bird, his entire sense of reality currently collapsing in on itself as he stares at you. and after what seemed to be the longest ten seconds of your life–

“what!?” he finally sputters out, the words escaping him as a breathless, panicked exclamation.

“marry me,” you repeated, your voice steady, contrasting his chaos. 

mark actually lets out a disbelieving laugh. not because it’s funny but because if he doesn’t laugh, he genuinely thinks he might lose his mind. 

“dude–,” he exhaled, dragging a hand down to his face, his fingers scrubbing at his skin as if trying to wipe away the vision of you. 

the term sneaks a small smile onto your lips. it was so him.

“i’ve got to be dreaming,” he whispered into his palm.

you smirked in amusement, biting down on your lip to try and contain your laughter, “you dream of marrying me, markie?”

the nickname hit him like a punch. markie. another bittersweet memory he’s tried too hard to forget. a name that belonged to a version of himself he thought he had let go of. 

mark looks at you then. he can’t help but take you in, studying you with the same intensity he used to study his research samples back in the university labs, as if by analyzing every detail, he could prove you were real — you’re older now. still as beautiful as the first day he met you. your smile lines are still there, faint at the corners of your lips. he wonders briefly why they haven’t gotten deeper over the years. had you stopped laughing as much? your hair is shorter. more refined. more elegant. but it’s your eyes that make his chest twist unexpectedly. god, those eyes. he remembered them too well.  the same eyes he lost himself in for a whole year. he had memorized every detail without realizing it…every line in your iris, every expression before you laughed, every look you gave him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention. but now, as he searched your gaze, he realized the light had changed. something inside them looks quieter. colder. lonelier. 

“so…,” you tilt your head slightly, that teasing smirk still on your lips, “is that a yes?” 

he finally snaps out of his daydream, your question pulling him back to earth. this isn’t a dream. the cold air is real, the scent of your perfume is real, and the impossible request hanging in the air is real. 

mark stares at you like you’ve completely lost your mind.

“what is this?,” he asks finally, a sharp edge of frustration slicing through his shock, “a prank? some kind of joke?”

“do i look like i’m joking, mark?”

“no, but y-you,” he cuts himself off sharply, trying to compose himself, “you can’t just–,” he exhales hard through his nose.

“you disappeared.” 

the teasing expression on your face falters slightly. for a split second, the mask of the azur heir cracked, revealing the girl who had once loved him. 

mark laughs again, quieter this time, bitter, a sound devoid of any joy, “no goodbye. no explanations.” his jaw tightens, “you were just…gone. you left me like you never existed.”

your chest twists painfully but instead of acknowledging it, you slip into the version of yourself that knows how to survive difficult conversations, forcing indifference onto your expression.  

“and now i’m here,” you say lightly, head held high, “and i’m making you an offer you shouldn’t resist.”

mark looked at you as if he were staring at a stranger wearing the skin of someone he once loved. and maybe he was. maybe the girl who stole his heart five years ago isn’t the same girl standing before him now. 

“do you think marriage is a game?” he asks finally, anger quietly bleeding into his voice. 

your expression softens just slightly, the ice in your eyes flickering. you stepped closer, the scent of your expensive perfume swirling around him. 

“i think,” you start carefully, your voice dropping to a low hum, “we can work well together.”

the words hang heavily between you. 

“like we did before,” you added softly. 

he just stares at you, waiting for an explanation. so you continue.

“let’s face it mark,” you continued, your voice losing it’s softness and taking on a sharp edge, “no matter how smart, impressive and hardworking you are,” you paused, letting the weight of the statement sink in, “you will always be an employee.” 

you notice the subtle twitch in his expression immediately. you know you hit a nerve, crossing a line you shouldn’t, but you keep going anyway. you leaned in, your gaze locking into his.

“marrying me would change everything for you,” you gesture vaguely toward the glittering ballroom below, “your status, your influence, your position in this industry.”

mark’s face hardens, his expression becoming a mask of stone.

“you don’t want to spend the rest of your life being the brilliant director executives profit off of while they sit comfortably above you,” your gaze stays locked onto his, “with me, everything you’ve ever wanted is yours.”

for a second, you saw it – the flicker of temptation. mark wasn’t blind. he knew the math. and he knew he’d be a fool to pass up this offer. he could dedicate another ten years of his life and still never truly stand beside the wealthiest — people like the zhong’s, the park’s, the na’s. people like you. that kind of status wasn’t earned. it was inherited.

but even though the wealth is blinding and tempting – mark is a fool. 

a fool who believes marriage should mean something. that a vow was a promise of the soul, not a contract for mutual benefit. 

his mind flashed back to his parents – the only blueprint for love he had ever known. they ruined themselves loving each other, spent years struggling financially, sacrificing everything for one another, and yet they still look at each other like they won the lottery. it’s his favorite love story. a testament to the idea that love was the only currency that actually mattered. that’s why he can’t imagine marrying someone for strategy or status or convenience. 

“and what exactly do you get out of marrying me?,” he asks finally, completely dumbfounded. 

none of it made sense to him. he’s sure there was a line of guys waiting at your feet – billionaire heirs, ceo’s, politicians’ sons, executives raised specifically for marriages like this, men with family names powerful enough to impress your family. so…why in the world would you ever choose him? he didn’t have billions of dollars attached to his name. his family is ordinary. and you said it yourself – he is just an employee.

your gaze flickers for the first time tonight.

“i have three months,” you admit quietly as mark’s brows furrow slightly. the sudden time constraint shifted the energy of the conversation from a strategic negotiation to a desperate plea.

“my father made it clear,” you inhale slowly before meeting his eyes again, “i’m getting married this year whether i want to or not.”

the cold night air suddenly feels heavier and mark felt a sudden surge of protectiveness that he had no right to feel. he absolutely hates how much that imagery affects him. you, in a wedding dress, walking down the aisle to someone else. it bothers him far more than it should. which is ridiculous, really. he hasn’t seen you in five years. you were strangers who shared a history, ghosts of a seoul that no longer existed. 

but then you spoke and that sharp edge was gone, leaving behind something aching and raw. 

“i’d rather it be you,” you say softly, your voice barely a whisper, “than the man my father chose for me.”

that almost breaks him. because for the first time tonight, you finally sound honest. the conflict within him reached a fever pitch. on one side was the man who valued love, the man who refused to be a pawn in a corporate game. on the other was the boy who had spent five agonizing years wondering where you went, the boy who had kept a small, locked part of his heart reserved for the girl who had disappeared without a word, leaving him to bleed in silence. 

looking at you now, the anger and the betrayal are still there…but also...the primal, aching longing that refuses to die.

💎 THE GIRLFRIEND. 💎  

“there you are,” a sweet, melodic voice cuts through the tension hanging between you and mark, “i’ve been looking for you.”

both of you turn at the same time as a woman approaches from the staircase, her heels clicking softly against the marble. she’s beautiful in that effortless way and she isn’t familiar to you. but the way she walks directly toward mark tells you enough already. 

“karina,” mark calls out her name. the way his voice softens around her makes your stomach twist unpleasantly. that tone used to be reserved only for you. 

“uhm–,” he clears his throat quickly before gesturing toward you, “meet ms. y/n, heir of azur, i was just explaining the vitamin line like mrs. zhong asked.”

karina’s eyes widen slightly before she bows politely, ”oh,” she says softly, “i’m so sorry for interrupting.”

you’re already preparing to dismiss her. to tell her you and mark were still discussing something important but mark beats you to it.

”ms. y/n,” he says carefully, his voice regaining it’s professional distance, “this is karina, head of the marketing team…”

there’s the briefest pause. then–

“...and my girlfriend.”

your expression almost slips. but years of media training and executive dinners save you before it can fully show. still – it feels strangely humiliating how quickly disappointment crashes into you over a man you haven’t spoken to in years. 

karina naturally moves beside him and mark’s hand settles against her lower back – a gesture of comfort, of habit, of belonging. the sight makes something ugly tighten in your chest, a surge of jealousy coursing through you. 

right. of course. why wouldn’t he have someone? everyone fell for him. you knew that firsthand.

you force a small smile onto your face anyway, nodding in her direction. you don’t say nice to meet you because it’s not. instead, you go back to default - work.

“well, i’m sure the vitamin line will perform extremely well. azur will set up a meeting with yü headquarters sometime this week to discuss distribution and marketing strategies further.”

you look at mark the entire time, not once sparing karina a glance, effectively erasing her presence from the conversation.

”oh,” you add lightly before stepping away, “and mark?”

his eyes meet yours immediately. 

“think about it.”

the words land heavily between the two of you. it’s selfish, maybe even cruel, but you had to try. this isn’t just about a wedding – this was your whole future on the line. you don’t care if there’s someone new in his heart now. not when you can still see the flicker of the old mark, your mark, in his eyes. not when there is a chance that you are still etched into his soul.

then, you turn and walk away, head held high, expression composed, untouchable until the very end, not daring to glance back. 

only once you disappear down the staircase does mark finally exhale properly for what feels like the first time all night. the second you’re out of sight, he immediately steps away from karina.

“what the fuck was that?!” karina whisper-shouts, looking at him in disbelief, “i’m not your girlfriend!”

he lets out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. the composure he had fought so hard to maintain in front of you shatters instantly. karina was not his girlfriend. never had been. she was a good friend. and now she’s looking at him like he’s completely lost his mind. 

“do you remember the girl i told you about?” he sputters out, his voice strained, “the one i met in south korea?” 

karina blinks once. then twice.

“uhh you mean the girl you’ve been hung up on for the past five years because she ghosted you and ‘she was the only woman i’ve ever loved,’ – that girl?,” karina teases, mocking his voice. 

mark grimaces immediately, a flush of heat creeping up his neck, “i never said that,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes. 

“‘ughh karina, love is not real—i’ll never love again—she’s the only one for me, no else will ever take her spot—,” karina continues teasing him, voice going several octaves lower in a terrible imitation of him. 

”okay, okay!” mark hisses, rubbing his face in embarrassment, “i get it…i may have said those things,” he grumbles in defeat.

karina lets out a soft chuckle, her expression softening as she looks at him. the teasing fades, replaced by a flicker of curiosity and concern. she knows the depth of the scar you left on him.

“what about that girl?”

mark lets out another tired sigh before glancing toward the staircase you disappeared down moments ago. and instantly, his expression turned serious. the exact look karina recognizes from late nights in the office – the expression he wears when he is on the verge of a breakthrough, when he becomes so consumed by a singular goal that the rest of the world ceases to exist. 

“that was her.”

karina freezes. ”...oh.” her eyes widening at the revelation, “oh, shit.”

“WAIT–” she hisses, smacking his arm, her voice climbing an octave, “so whY THE HELL DID YOU TELL HER I WAS YOUR GIRLFRIEND!?”

”shhhh!,” mark whispers immediately, glancing around to make sure nobody heard her, “keep your voice down!”

karina lowers her voice, still mixed with the same frustration, “why the hell did you tell her i was your girlfriend!?”

“because…she asked me to marry her.”

his friend’s eyes almost pop out of her sockets, “WHAT—!?” 

she processes the information quickly, her gaze shifting from his face to the empty space where you had stood then back to him. she points a finger accusingly at his chest, ”and you turned her down.”

mark winces, “...i turned her down.”

in a flash, a hand comes down to smack the back of his head. 

“AYE!–” mark rubs the back of his head immediately, glaring at her with a mix of pain and confusion, “what was that for!?”

“for being stupid!,” she groans, throwing her hands up in the air as she starts pacing in a small circle, her voice a frantic, dramatic whisper–

“mark, i’m struggling to see the problem here!—this is the same girl you’ve been in love with for five years!–and she’s the heir of azur! do you know how much this will elevate you. not only do you get the girl–you also get the name. the wealth. the status. you’d practically be royalty!”

mark lets out a long, heavy sigh, “that’s exactly why i can’t do it,” he says quietly.

karina stood mid-gesture, staring at him blankly. 

mark exhales slowly, his gaze drifting back toward the staircase, “i don’t want to marry her because of her money. or her name. or the material things she can give me.”

karina’s expression softens immediately. the fire in her eyes dies down, replaced by a look of profound, almost pained understanding. god. sometimes she forgets how painfully sincere mark actually is. in a world of corporate sharks and social climbers, mark lee was an anomaly – a man whose integrity was as rigid as his research. 

”you and your morals,” she sighs dramatically, though there’s obvious fondness in her voice now, a small, proud smile tugging at her lips.

“it’s all i’ve got.”

karina snorts, shifting back into her theatrical persona, clutching her chest and mourning the loss of a lifestyle she never had, “god, i can’t believe i won’t be a nepo friend. i could be in your private jet, mark! shopping in paris!”

mark lets out a genuine laugh, the first one of the night, the tension in his chest loosening just a fraction.

“but now what?,” she pauses, the playfulness vanishing as she looks at him seriously now, “-families like hers are expected to marry one way or another, are you honestly going to be okay watching her marry someone else?”

💎 MIDNIGHT. 💎

the question follows mark home like a curse. it echoes in his head during the drive back to his condo, during the elevator ride up to his penthouse and now – at midnight – it has finally cornered him.

mark’s room is dark except for the faint glow of the city’s skyline filtering through the curtains. usually after events like tonight, he’d already be fast asleep. he had work in the morning. meetings. reports. lab reviews. his life was structured and predictable. 

you had always been the one thing capable of ruining that. 

he lies flat on his back against his king sized bed, one arm thrown over his eyes as if physically blocking out the memory of you would somehow help. it doesn’t. because every time he closes his eyes – he only sees you. 

he exhales sharply before turning onto his side for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. he’s completely restless. and angry. angry that you suddenly showed up after five years as a stranger wrapped in the skin of the woman he loved. angry that you asked him something so insane like it was nothing. angry that some stupid part of him almost said yes immediately. angry that despite everything – his first instinct was still you. 

in a fit of frustration, he drags a pillow over his face. this is ridiculous. five whole years has past without you. years he’d spent convincing himself he’d moved on. that whatever happened in seoul belonged in the past. that you were just another chapter in his life he had eventually learned to turn.

but now – every memory he thought he had buried comes rushing back all at once, playing in his mind like a movie he can’t turn off no matter how hard he tries. 

he still remembers the first day he met you. still remembers how your hand feels in his. the scent of your perfume that clung to his memory long after you disappeared. the sound of your laughter that still echoes somewhere in the back of his mind sometimes. and your lips – even after five years, he can still taste you. he remembers the heat of your breath, the soft desperate way you used to pull him closer, the taste of salt and sweetness and longing, as if it all happened yesterday rather than a lifetime ago. 

that’s the part that truly drives him insane. 

what kind of person remembers someone this vividly after half a decade apart? what kind of person still gets wrecked by a single look from someone they haven’t seen in years?

apparently him. 

“jesus christ,” he mutters under his breath as he turns in his bed again. 

he closes his eyes again, and this time, he doesn’t try to block you out. he lets the memory of you wash over him. 

SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA: FIVE YEARS AGO  

❄️ MARCH: THE STATISTICS. ❄️

the lecture hall lights were dimmed just enough for your presentation slides to glow brightly against the large screen behind you. rows of students sat scattered across the room, some paying attention, some pretending to care. laptops clicked quietly beneath the sound of your voice while your professor sat comfortably at the back of the classroom. he was one of those who preferred watching students teach themselves rather than actually lecturing. typical. you stood confidently at the front, remote in hand as graphs and marketing statistics flashed behind you. 

“-data visualization is critical to the consumer experience because 80% of information transmitted to the brain is visual–”

“90.”

the voice cuts cleanly through the room, stopping you mid-sentence. 

slowly, your eyes move toward the source – a boy sits near the front row, one arm resting lazily against the desk while the other twirls a pen between his fingers, his silver-framed glasses reflecting the light from your powerpoint presentation, briefly hiding his eyes, but not enough to hide the calm confidence in them. 

“..sorry?” you say slowly, one eyebrow lifting. your voice had a sharp edge to it, the instinctive defense of someone used to being the smartest person in any room they entered. 

“the statistics,” he clarifies casually, “visual information transmitted to the brain is actually 90%”

the room falls strangely quiet. you could’ve sworn your textbook said 80. and judging by the way nobody else corrected you, everyone else thought so too. but before you could argue further, your professor’s voice cuts you off.

“mark is right. it is 90%. and though it’s not a critical mistake. you should always be careful with numbers, y/n – wrong numbers could cost you an entire company.”

normally, a public correction like this would’ve irritated you. you hated making mistakes. hated being corrected even more. to be proven wrong in front of people was a bruise to the ego you had spent years polishing.

but strangely, you aren’t annoyed. in fact — you’re impressed. because for the first time in your life, someone interrupted you without hesitation. no nervousness. no flattery.

it was the most honest interaction you ever had.

once class finally ends, the room erupts into noise almost immediately. chairs scrape loudly against the floor, students begin shoving laptops into bags while conversations start to overlap. you stay near the podium, packing away your things.

“hey.”

you glance up. mark stands awkwardly in front of you, backpang hanging off one shoulder while one hand grips the strap absentmindedly. up close, he looks softer. handsome. annoyingly handsome. 

“hi,” you reply, a little colder than necessary as you slide your laptop into your bag, “here to point out anything else wrong with my presentation?”

“no–i–,” he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly before letting out a quiet breath, “sorry.” 

you find the sudden shift in his demeanor a bit amusing, trying to hide the smile creeping in on your lips. 

“sorry for what?”

mark shifts his weight awkwardly, “i uh—wasn’t trying to interrupt you,” he explains quickly, “or act like i thought i was smarter than you or anything. i actually…i really liked your presentation,” he admits, “your powerpoint was really easy to understand.” he gestures vaguely with one hand, clearly struggling to explain himself properly. “like…you explained everything in a way that made the information simple without losing the important parts. most people can’t really do that. usually they just read the slides or copy and paste everything from the book.”

you stare at him, your gaze searching his face for any sign of a facade. you were used to the curated compliments of the elite – the polished, hollow praise designed to gain favor or secure a  connection. but as you look into his eyes, you realize there’s no fake politeness here. no calculated flirting. no hidden agenda. he’s just…honest. 

which somehow catches you more off guard. in your world, honest was either a luxury or a weapon – it was rarely just a default setting. most people either tried too hard to impress you or walked on eggshells, terrified of disagreeing with you. 

mark wasn’t like most people. 

your lips twitch slightly before you can stop them, “you rehearsed that apology before coming over here, didn’t you?”

his ears immediately turn red, “...maybe.”

and for the first time since arriving in seoul – you laugh. 

❄️ MAY: CONVENIENCE STORES & INSTANT RAMEN. ❄️

“ughh, i swear my brain is going to explode,” you groan, dramatically burying your head in your arms and collapsing onto the library table.

mark lets out a quiet laugh from beside you. the sound alone almost makes suffering through six straight hours of studying worth it. almost. 

outside the large library windows, the sky had already begun glowing softly beneath the fading sunset. the once crowded floor was slowly emptying now, students packing up one by one as dinner time approached. meanwhile, you and mark were still buried beneath textbooks, highlighted papers, laptops, empty coffee cups and scattered handwritten notes. 

over the past two months, the two of you had gotten unexpectedly close. close enough that studying together had somehow become routine. at first, it was accidental. a shared group project here, an exchanged set of notes there. and then suddenly – you were spending almost every day together. not that you minded. in fact, out of everyone in this prestigious university, mark was probably the only person you genuinely enjoyed being around. he never exhausted you. never tried too hard. never acted differently around you. never expected anything from you. 

around him, you didn’t feel like azur’s heir. because to mark, you were just another exhausted university student trying not to fail. and maybe that was exactly why being around him felt so easy — he had absolutely no idea who you really were. no idea that your family owned the luxury department stores he studied in class. no idea that your surname alone could open doors for him. no idea that the “small apartment” you claimed to live in was actually a luxury penthouse paid for by your father. 

but the real irony was — even though he didn’t know the real you, it felt like he was the only one who actually knew the real you. every shared joked, every frustrated sigh, every moment of comfortable silence felt real in a way the rest of your life never did.

and to add on to the benefits of him – mark was ridiculously attractive. the kind of handsome that he wasn’t even aware of. which was annoying at times because you spend more time staring at the stars in his eyes than you’d like to admit. and god. when he started nerdy talking? absolutely unfair. 

“how about we take a break?,” he suggests finally, smiling softly at you.

you narrow your eyes immediately, turning your head towards him, strands of your hair falling to your face. 

“a break?” you repeat dramatically, “you?”

mark laughs quietly, “yes, me.”

“the same person who doesn’t stop until he finishes what he’s doing because ‘it’ll ruin my flow’ you??” you tease slightly. 

he bit back a smile, his gaze lingering on you. then, without thinking – he reaches over. 

your breath catches instantly as his fingers brush lightly against your cheek, carefully tucking the strands behind your ear. the movement so absentminded. so gentle. like he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing to you. meanwhile, your heart practically stops beating altogether. it’s honestly infuriating how unaware he is of his own effect on you. 

“breaks are good,” mark says softly, completely oblivious to the internal crisis you were experiencing, “besides, we’ll retain more information if our brains don't explode.” 

which is how you ended up here – standing inside a small 7/11 near campus with its fluorescent lights buzzing softly overhead, the warm air carrying the smell of instant noodles and melted cheese wraps around the store. 

your eyes scan the shelves lined with different instant ramen cups and packets stacked almost to the ceiling, colors blending together in a way that feels overwhelming…yet you’re completely fascinated by all of it. 

“there’s so many flavors,” you murmur under your breath. 

mark, who had been walking behind you, pauses mid-step, looking at you curiously, “...have you never been here before?”

you glance toward him quickly, a flicker of panic crossing your mind, “of course i’ve been inside a 7/11 before.”

he raises an eyebrow immediately, “but?”

you hesitate. technically, yes, you’ve entered convenience stores before but usually it’s because your driver needed to stop for gas. or because security had to grab something quickly. or because you got bored waiting in the car once. but standing here casually after studying? having instant ramen for dinner? that was new. 

you look back toward the shelves again, “i’ve just…never really had this stuff before.”

mark’s eyes widen slightly, “you’ve never had instant ramen?”

you shake your head once and for the first time since knowing him, mark looks completely stunned. 

“how is that even possible?” he asked, his voice a mix of horror and bewilderment.

you shrug awkwardly. all your meals growing up had been prepared by professional chefs. perfectly plated breakfasts every morning, fresh ingredients flown in internationally, nutritionists deciding your meals before you even woke up. the kind of luxury so deeply embedded into your life you rarely noticed it yourself. now, standing here while mark stared at you like you’d confessed to never drinking water before – you realize how absurd your life probably sounds to normal people. 

“i don’t know,” you mumble defensively, “my family just…eats at home a lot.”

mark narrows his eyes slightly. you are definitely leaving something out. but instead of questioning it, he simply grabs a shopping basket, his attention already shifting back towards the ramen shelves. 

“what are you doing?" 

he looks at you like the answer is obvious. 

“you’ve never had instant ramen before,” he says simply, “we’re fixing that problem tonight.”

before you can argue, he starts grabbing different ramen cups off the shelves.

“this one’s a classic,” he holds up the shin ramyun before dropping it into the basket. 

“this one tastes better with cheese,” he says, adding the buldak carbonara. 

“this brand is kind of overrated,” he continues, grabbing the jin ramen, “but the noodles are actually really good.”

you watch him in amusement as he selects different flavors with the seriousness of someone conducting research, his brows furrowing slightly while comparing spice levels. you’re pretty sure he’s taking this more seriously than your last group project. 

“are you making me a starter pack?” you ask, laughter slipping into your voice. 

mark glances at you briefly, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “you’re judging me,” he says dryly, “but you’ve literally never had instant ramen before.”

“...fair point.”

he reaches toward another cup, “this one’s my favorite,” his voice softening slightly when he says it. 

you take it from him carefully, looking down at the packaging like it means more than instant noodles, “then i’ll try this one first.”

he pauses, and for a brief second, something unreadable flickers across his expression, soft enough that you almost miss it, then he clears his throat quickly and tosses a few drinks into the basket too. 

“come on,” he says casually, walking towards the register while you follow after him. the cashier begins scanning the items as you instinctively reach for your wallet inside your bag – only for mark to beat you to it. 

“my treat.”

“oh, no, you don’t have to–”

“i invited you,” he shrugs, already pulling his card from his wallet, “besides…” a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips, “this is technically your first instant ramen experience,” his eyes meets yours briefly,  “it should be memorable.”

you stared at him, momentarily speechless. you can’t remember the last time someone did something this simple for you without expecting anything in return. in your world, every “gift” was a transaction, every kindness was a strategic move. 

a sudden, piercing thought hit you – if he knew you had billions to your name, would he still insist on paying for it? you’d like to think he would. 

a few minutes later, you find yourself standing beside the store’s self-service station near the back wall, staring at it with open fascination. there was a hot water dispenser, a microwave, disposable chopsticks and apparently – people actually cooked their dinner right here.

your curious expression tugs something warm in mark’s chest as he admires you with pure adoration, though he kept his posture relaxed. 

“you can stop looking at it like it’s a flying car,” he teased, setting the shopping basket down on the counter.

you glance toward him, “i didn’t know convenience stores could do this.”

he shakes his head, amused, “dude, what planet have you been living on?”

“i told you,” you defended yourself, crossing your arms lightly, “my family eats at home.”

“right,” he mutters, clearly still unconvinced. 

you ignore him, leaning closer toward the machine while he begins opening the ramen lids one by one with practiced ease. he moves naturally around the tiny counter space like he’s done this a hundred times before, sleeves pushed up slightly as he carefully adds seasoning packets into the cup while you stand beside him completely useless.

“what do i do?” you ask finally. 

mark glances sideways at you, biting the inside of his cheek immediately to stop himself from smiling too hard. you look so concerned about it all, your brow furrowed as if you were facing a complex problem rather than a cup of noodles. it’s cute. 

he clears his throat quickly before handing you one of the seasoning packets, “okay” he says patiently, “you pour this in first.”

you take the packet from him carefully like he’s handing you something fragile – but as you tore the edge, your fingers slipped and a cloud of spicy red powder erupted, spilling some on the counter.

“...fuck.”

mark stares at the mess, then at your horrified expression. and he finally laughs. loud and intoxicating. a sound that echoed through the quiet store - you felt it in your bones. you thought you could live inside the sound forever. 

“don’t laugh!” you complained, though a smile was fighting to break through your pout.

“i just…can’t believe someone could actually struggle with this,” he says between quiet laughs. 

“you’re being mean,” you huffed. 

“no,” he corrects, his eyes shimmering with amusement, “i’m just being honest.”

you glare at him but the effect was ruined by the flush on your cheeks. he reaches over wordlessly, brushing the spilled seasoning aside with a napkin before helping you open the rest properly. 

“there,” he says softly once the cups are finally ready, “now we wait.”

you watch while the steam slowly rises from the ramen cups. the store is peaceful this late at night. a little old. a little cramped. nothing like the places you usually spend your evenings. and even so – you think you like this more. 

mark glances down at you briefly. your eyes are focused entirely on the ramen, your expression one of pure, childlike wonder. in this moment — he decides you’re the cutest person he’s ever met. but instead of saying that out loud, instead of risking the fragile, beautiful thing growing between you, he simply shakes his head slightly to himself, keeping the thought hidden where it’s safe. 

eventually, the two of you step outside into the cool air, ramen cups warming your hands immediately as you head towards the benches near the river, the dark water reflecting city lights beautifully beneath the night sky. for a while, neither of you says much, just sitting there shoulder-to-shoulder beneath the glow of the streetlight while the city hums softly around you. 

then finally – you take your first bite, eyes widening instantly. mark watches your reaction carefully. 

“...oh. my. god.”

you turn towards him immediately, your expression one of genuine shock and delight, eyes practically sparkling under the streetlight. 

“this is amazing!”

seeing your excitement, mark laughs softly, smiling into his own noodles while you continue eating with bubbling excitement beside him. you talked about the texture, the heat, the way it felt like a hug in a cup, your voice animated and light in a way you’ve never heard from yourself. 

and maybe it’s stupid. 

maybe it’s just ramen from 7/11. but sitting here with him, beneath the stars – you realize that this simple, unscripted moment of honesty might just be one of your favorite nights of your entire life. 

❄️ JUNE TO JULY: LATE NIGHT LIBRARY SESSIONS. ❄️

“i still can’t believe she gave you a spare key…she barely says a word to me!,” you whispered. you felt a thrill of illicit excitement, though technically, the two of you weren’t breaking and entering.

mark slides the card through the door’s reader, the automatic doors quietly unlocking with a soft beep.

“dude, that’s because you’re scary,” he teases, glancing at you over his shoulder, his eyes crinkled at the corners, a playful, knowing smile tugging at his lips, “you need to smile more.”

“please,” you scoff quietly as the two of you step inside the dim interior, “it’s because she has a crush on you.”  

mark laughs softly under his breath while locking the doors behind the two of you, “that’s ridiculous.”

“is it?” you hummed. 

what was truly ridiculous was mark’s complete oblivion to the effect he had on people. i mean, everyone loved him – students. professors. the cafeteria lady who dotes on him like he was her own son, always giving him extra servings. and of course, the librarian who you always catch staring at him when he wasn’t looking. mark had captured their hearts simply by existing, entirely unaware that he was doing it.

“yes,” he replies. 

“she literally gave you access to an entire building,” you remind him, walking beside him, your shoulder occasionally brushing his. 

“she just trusts me,” he argued, though he was smiling. 

“she wants you.”

mark shakes his head with another laugh, refusing to entertain your delusions as the two of you make your way toward the back corner of the library. your usual spot. far enough from the entrance that nobody would notice the two of you. you settle into your chair by the window while he drops his backpack onto the table before sitting down next to you, close enough that your legs almost brush underneath. as usual. 

it had been over a month since 7/11. at this point, you had lost count of how many cups of ramen the two of you had shared. it had somehow become your thing. you’d once tried eating it alone once, only to realize it didn’t taste the same without mark’s laughter right next to you. which was a little concerning. 

“whatever,” mark says, waving off the conversation as he pulls a textbook from his backpack, “that doesn’t matter.”

you open your laptop, the light illuminating your face, but before you could even type a word, mark reached over, grabbing it without asking, his fingers moving across the keyboard as he pulls up your shared google docs notes. this was the rhythm of your friendship – easy and collaborative. if one of you struggled understanding something, the other explained it without judgment. there was no competition. no ego. just a quiet, mutual reliance. 

“why not?” you ask curiously, watching his profile in the dim light.

“i don’t know,” he shrugs lightly, his focus still on the screen, “i just don’t really have time for distractions.”

your eyes narrow slightly, “so…what?,” you turn toward him, “you’re just never going to date anyone?”

he shrugs again, his tone remaining casual, “i wouldn’t say never,” his tone stays casual, “it's just not my priority right now.”

“hmm,” you hum softly, “okay.”

mark immediately stops typing then, focusing his full attention on you, “okay…” he repeats suspiciously, “what?”

you shrug innocently, “nothing. just okay.”

“nu-uh,” he shakes his head, leaning forward slightly and resting his arm on your chair, effectively boxing you in.

he’s way too close. close enough that you can smell his detergent. close enough to notice the moles near his cheeks more clearly. close enough that your heart immediately starts racing. you pretend not to notice. 

“that’s not your ‘just okay’ okay…that was your judgy ‘okay’,” he says firmly. 

your jaw drops slightly, “i do not have a judgy okay.”

“you have a judgy everything,” he teases, a triumphant smile on his lips, “you’re actually a very judgmental person.”

“hey!,” you shove his shoulder playfully in protest but he barely budged. instead, he just looks at you with that stupid smile sitting on his lips, clearly waiting for you to explain yourself. 

“it’s just–okay,” you sigh, the playfulness draining away as you lean back into your chair, “i know your end goal is to become a research director,” you say. mark nods, confirming your statement. 

“and i know you’re going to get there too,” you add honestly, "probably faster than everyone else.” 

that makes him smile – not the teasing grin from before, but something small and shy. like compliments still caught him off guard even though people praise him everyday. 

“but then what?” you ask quietly, making mark’s brow furrow faintly. 

“you spend your entire life working toward this huge goal,” you continue, “you sacrifice sleep, a social life, you push yourself until you’re exhausted…and then one day, you finally have everything you wanted,” you paused, your heart aching with a truth you had known since childhood, “but you look around and realize you’re completely alone.”

the library suddenly feels quieter now. no teasing. no laughter. mark watched you with a piercing intensity, his eyes searching yours as if he were trying to read a language he hadn’t yet mastered.

“wouldn’t it be nice,” you ask softly, “to have someone to share it all with?” 

mark pauses. he’s never really thought of it that way. in his head, life had always been a linear equation – work hard, achieve more, keep climbing. life was one massive ladder stretching endlessly upward. and he’d spent so much time focusing on the next step that he never stopped to ask himself what waited at the top – or if the view was worth it if there was no one standing beside him to see it. 

“i think,” he began, choosing his words carefully, “i just figured love would happen naturally…if it was meant to.”

“and if it doesn’t?”

mark shrugs lightly, “then i guess i’ll survive.”

the answer makes you sad. because the way he says it sound so simple. so accepting. like surviving is enough. your gaze drops briefly toward the table. 

“i don’t want to survive,” you murmured.

mark studies your profile as if you were the most complex research project he had ever encountered, trying to find the deeper meaning, the hidden trauma beneath the poise. 

“i want to feel it,” you admit, voice barely audible, “at least once.”

mark’s brows pull together slightly, “feel what?” he asks gently.

“the love we’re supposed to feel.” 

the words hung in the air. for a moment, mark forgot how to breathe. because suddenly, the girl sitting beside him doesn’t look like the confident sharp-tongued student that could dismantle a professor’s arguments in seconds and judged every little thing. in her place was someone who looked….lonely. that quiet kind of loneliness that makes something painful twists in his chest. and all he can think about is how softly your voice said those words, almost as if love was something fragile, something distant, something you weren’t entirely sure was real. 

his gaze lingers on your face longer than it should. he wants to ask what happened? who hurt you badly enough to make you sound like that? who made someone like you, someone so beautiful and confident, talk about love like it was some impossible thing people were lucky enough to have? but all he can manage to say is–

“you’ll feel it,” he says softly, “why wouldn’t you?”

a small laugh escapes you then, though there’s nothing amused by it. mark didn’t know. he didn’t know that love didn’t exist in business. that love was the biggest privilege… the rarest luxury of all. 

“yeah,” you sigh softly, forcing a practiced smile onto your face, “you’re right.” 

but the smile doesn’t fully reach your eyes – the sparkle he usually looked for isn’t there. 

you wave the tension away before he can question it further, reaching for your laptop and pulling it towards you like you hadn’t just cracked something open between the two of you.

“anyway,” you say lightly, pretending your voice didn’t break seconds ago, “if we fail this class after spending our entire lives in this library, i’m killing you.”

mark stares at you for another second like he knows you’re hiding something. that there’s more there than you’re willing to say out loud, a story that you weren’t ready to tell. 

eventually, he lets you change the subject. 

“if we fail this class, i’ll kill myself first to save you the trouble,” he jokes, making you shove his shoulder playfully again before you both turned back to studying.

late-night library sessions became routine after that, along with your shared convenience store meals, walks on campus, sitting together in shared classes. in the past month, you were together so much that other students started assuming that you were dating. whispers followed you through corridors, their glances lingering on the way mark leaned into your space or the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t watching. neither of you cared enough to confirm or deny the rumors. 

truthfully, you were too immersed in the bubble you built – a world where you weren’t the heir to a retail empire. a world where you can simply enjoy another’s company without anything in return. just two regular people slowly starting to become inseparable without realizing it. 

for mark, maybe this was just a beautiful friendship – a rare, honest connection in a competitive academic world. 

but for you – it was more dangerous than that. because somewhere along the way, you realized life felt lighter when he was around. the suffocating weight of your father’s expectations, the looming shadow of your planned future, the coldness of your upbringing – it all seemed to fade into the background. with mark, you could breathe. you could laugh without calculating the costs. you could simply exist. it felt as though your impending doom was being held at bay by the mere presence of him. 

“mark,” you murmur softly, eyes still focused on your laptop screen, “can you pass me my highlighter?”

a second passes, then another, and another. silence. 

your brows furrow in confusion before you finally glance toward him – only to pause immediately. 

mark had fallen asleep, his head resting against his arm beside the textbook opened to the last page he was reading. his glasses sat slightly crooked on the bridge of his nose, lips parted slightly, breathing slow and even. 

your entire demeanor shifts, softening while you watch him. the usual furrow between his brows is gone now. no stress. no overthinking. no constant need to achieve something. he just looks peaceful. 

carefully, you reach over, your heart pounding in your chest as your fingers brush lightly against his cheek. you gently slid the glasses off his face. you couldn’t imagine how uncomfortable it must be to sleep in them, but the excuse was flimsy – you just wanted a reason to touch him. 

for a while, you stayed there, quietly looking at him beneath the soft library lamp. he’s beautiful. not in the polished way magazine models were beautiful. but in a quieter way. the kind that sneaks up on you slowly until suddenly you realize you could stare at someone for an eternity and still find something new to admire.

that was the moment the realization hit you – you had fallen for him. 

it wasn’t a sudden explosion or a cinematic epiphany. it had been a gradual accumulation of small moments – the way he defended his ideas, the way he looked at you when you were being “judgy,” the way he made you feel seen. 

it was an emotion that didn’t need theater or grand gestures. it felt as though your soul had simply recognized his and decided to come home. 

slowly, almost hypnotically, you lower your head onto your arm beside him, studying every detail freely at once – details you didn’t want to forget. the curl of his lashes, the moles near his cheeks, the way his hair falls messily over his forehead. and before you can stop yourself, you lean in a little bit closer. just a little. like gravity itself is pulling you toward him. 

but the second you do – mark’s eyes flutters open. 

you froze, your heart leaping into your throat, eyes widening at the initial shock of being caught. for a second, neither of you moves.

you didn’t pull away though, and to your surprise, neither did he.

mark’s sleepy expression slowly sharpened as his brain processes the situation. his gaze drops, flickering briefly to your lips, then traveling back up to your eyes, searching for something. the air between you thickens, charging with a quiet tension that had been building for months. 

before either of you could overthink it – mark closes the distance, moving slowly, deep brown eyes locked on yours, giving you every possible second to retreat, to laugh it off, or to pull away. but you didn’t. until finally–

his lips touch yours. 

a soft, tentative press at first, a question asked in the silence of the library. it’s hesitant, almost reverent and for a heartbeat — the world stopped. 

your eyes fluttered closed as you savor the gentleness of it before pulling back just a little, your lips still brushing his, your voice a breathless, teasing murmur, “i thought you didn’t have time for distractions.”

mark’s expression softened, his eyes searching yours with a quiet intensity. 

“you’re not a distraction,” he rasped, his voice dropping an octave before his hand slid upward, warm fingers carefully settling at the nape of your neck, tangling slightly in your hair to pull you in again – the kiss deeper, more purposeful – every soft slide of his lips a confession. 

SHANGHAI, CHINA: PRESENT TIME

💎 THE MEETING. 💎

unfortunately, or fortunately, you were still trying to figure it out – your father had personally assigned you to handle the partnership meeting at yü skincare headquarters. which meant you were now sitting inside one of the conference rooms trying very hard to act normal while mark sat directly across from you. 

it would’ve been fine, you had wanted to see him again after the launch party, to have another chance to convince him to accept your proposal…if it wasn’t for the fact his girlfriend was here too. 

karina sat right next to mark, her presence a sharp reminder of the five year gap you were trying to bridge. she was currently locked in a heated fast-paced discussion with jeno, azur’s marketing director, their voices overlapping as they debated campaign concepts. zhong chenle sits at the head of the table, looking deeply entertained with their arguments. 

you couldn’t bring yourself to care about the aesthetics of the campaign. both azur and yü skincare are already known in a global level. at the end it didn’t matter what the campaign concept was. 

your focus was entirely on the man across the table. 

you remained mostly silent beside jeno, nodding here and there, while your attention drifts toward mark for what was probably the hundredth time. and every single time, without fail, you catch him already looking at you, too. his eyes weren’t just glancing, they were searching, heavy with an unspoken weight. you swear you caught his gaze drop to your lips at times. 

it doesn’t help that mark looks annoyingly good today. he wore a black polo with the sleeves rolled slightly past his wrists, exposing the lean strength of his forearms and the silver watch that glinted against his skin. every now and then his brows furrow slightly when someone says something scientifically inaccurate. you remember kissing those furrowed brows once. bad thought. very bad thought. you immediately force your attention back toward the screen.

“...i still think we should focus more on the science of it all,” mark said, his voice cutting through the chatter. 

“if we lean too heavily into luxury branding, consumers might think it’s just another overpriced celebrity supplement,” he glances briefly toward the campaign mockups before his eyes flickered back to yours, “but if we explain how it works instead, consumers will be more inclined to trust the actual research behind it.”

god. even his work voice is attractive. you hate him. you want him to keep talking. 

karina nods immediately beside him, “that’s a good point.”

your eyes flicker toward her unconsciously.

chenle glances between the presentation slides before nodding once, “sounds good,” he says easily, “let’s revisit the campaign tomorrow with that direction in mind. everyone’s dismissed.”

the room immediately shifts into motion. chairs slide back. laptops begin closing. papers shuffle. but before anyone can actually leave – chenle suddenly turns toward you, a mischievous smile pulling at the corners of his lips. 

“so,” he says casually, “how’s the marriage proposal going?”

you nearly choke on your own spit. across the table, mark froze. beside him, karina’s eyes immediately dart between the two of you so fast it’s almost impressive. 

you stare at chenle in disbelief. because of course he would say something like that in front of employees. 

“what?” you ask carefully. you definitely did not tell anyone about your proposal to mark. you weren’t about to hand the world a front-row seat to your desperation and potential embarrassment.

chenle looks equally confused by your reaction, “with dejun?,” he added, as if it were the most obvious fact in the world.

oh. right. you exhale a quiet, shaky breath, the tension in your shoulders shifting from panic to a dull, familiar ache. 

“my wife told me you guys were finally getting married this year,” chenle continues, completely unaware of the emotional destruction happening elsewhere in the room. he smirked, leaning back, “i figured you finally fell for his charm after all these years.”

xiao dejun. the name felt like a heavy weight on your shoulders. he was the man your father had hand-picked for you when you were twenty-two – the son of his closest business associate, the heir of the #1 ice cream brand in the country. he was the five star standard of corporate matches – the perfect lineage, the flawless reputation, the strategic alliance. dejun was handsome, funny, kind. he always showed up with gifts upon gifts. there’s nothing, really, to complain about – except for the fact that he wasn’t the brilliant researcher you had fallen for. 

before you can respond, your assistant, winter, who had been quietly taking notes near the corner of the room the entire meeting, carefully speaks up.  

“ms. y/n,” she says gently, “you actually have a dinner date scheduled with mr. dejun later–”

your expression hardens instantly, the professional mask snapping back into place. 

“cancel it.”

winter hesitates, her brow furrowing, “...it’s the twelfth date you’ve cancelled this year,” she whispered, her voice dropping to a cautious level, “your father isn’t very happy.”

“i don’t care,” you reply flatly, your voice cutting through the air like a blade, “cancel it.”

the room goes awkwardly silent. even chenle straightens slightly. but still – he’s chenle. so naturally, he keeps talking anyway. 

“the married life isn’t so bad, you know?,” he chimes in, “highly recommend it, actually.”

you almost roll your eyes. of course he would say that. in a world of transactional unions and cold contracts, chenle was the blip – the one who had managed to secure both genuine love and immense power. it was a miracle you envied. 

slowly, you scanned the room. everyone was still there, frozen in a state of pretend-busyness. karina awkwardly looks down at her laptop. jeno had become deeply interested in reorganizing his folders. and then there was mark, who hadn’t moved an inch, his expression an unreadable void – quiet, controlled, and terrifyingly still. but you could feel it. the tension radiating off him was a physical force, vibrating with a frequency only you could hear. 

your eyes meet his for a fleeting, electric second before you snapped your gaze back to chenle. 

“i really wish we weren’t discussing my personal life in front of our employees, mr. zhong,” your voice is calm, but it carried a frost that silenced the room completely.

chenle straightens up at the tone of your voice. out of everyone in your social circle – you’d always been the frightening one. you weren’t loud or explosive – you were controlled. the kind of cold that made people acutely aware the moment they had crossed a line. and chenle had definitely stepped way over it. 

“right,” he coughs awkwardly, “ right, sorry. that was very unprofessional of me.”

“very,” you agree smoothly. the room stays painfully quiet. no one is brave enough to interrupt. after a brief pause, you turn slightly toward chenle again. 

“i still have a couple things i need to discuss with director mark,” you stated, your tone shifting back into polished professionalism, “would it be alright if we continued using this room?” 

at the mention of his name, mark’s head snapped up. his eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense, burning with a mixture of confusion, jealousy, and a frustration that had nothing to do with business. 

chenle nods, “yeah, of course,” he says easily, “i should head home anyway,” a smile softens his face instantly, “i have a very pregnant wife waiting for me.”

a quiet, involuntary laugh escaped you, the first genuine sound you’d made all meeting, “tell her i said hi.”

“i will,” he replied with smile, before finally heading towards the door. 

one by one, the remaining employees follow after him. jeno gave a polite bow before taking his leave. karina gives mark one suspicious look before leaving too. winter quietly closes the door behind herself. 

and then – silence. 

mark remains seated across from you for a long moment, his posture rigid. then, slowly, he leaned back in his chair, the mask of the polished research director finally slipping, replaced by the exhaustion washing over his features. 

you simply watch him. the physical distance of the conference table acting as a barrier felt almost cruel. you were used to being by his side, your shoulders brushing his, the warmth of him grounding you.

“have you thought about it?” you ask softly. 

“i already gave you an answer,” he replied, his voice cold and distant. like he’s deliberately holding the wall up between you, trying to shut you out. 

“no,” you say calmly, “you didn’t.”

frustration flashes across his face, a spark of heat in his cold demeanor, “you literally met my girlfriend,” he snapped, his voice rising slightly, “was that not enough?”

you hold his gaze steadily.

“except she’s not your girlfriend.” 

“wh-what?” he stammers, the composure he fought so hard to maintain fracturing in real-time.

you almost smile, leaning back slightly in your chair, entirely too relaxed. 

“i had winter look into your relationship,” you shrug as if you were discussing the weather and not a blatant violation of his privacy. 

mark stares at you in disbelief, his mouth slightly agape, “y-you what??”

“no evidence of a romantic relationship,” you continue smoothly, “at least not between the two of you. she’s dating some guy named kai. older. owns a popular nightclub in the city.”

mark looks seconds away from developing a migraine. he closes his eyes for a moment, a pained expression crossing his face. 

“and you,” you finish calmly, “don’t appear to be seeing anyone at all.”

“y-you can’t just investigate me like that!” he exclaimed, completely appalled. 

he has every right to be. but instead of feeling guilt, you felt a surge of triumph. you tilted your head slightly, watching the way his chest heaved with agitation, “why not?”

his eyebrows shot up, like he couldn’t believe what just came out of your mouth, “why not?!”

“i have the power. the resources.” you shrug lightly, the heir of azur speaking now. “besides, all this was public information. there wasn’t much ‘investigation’ involved. just a few clicks and phone calls.”

“that’s not the point!”

“then what is?”

mark opens his mouth to argue, then closes it again, a look of sheer frustration crossing his face. 

you watch him carefully for another second before finally asking the question that had been rotting in your chest. 

“so why did you lie to me?” 

his jaw tightens immediately. he couldn’t look at you anymore. he stood up abruptly, “i will be excusing myself from this discussion, ms. y/n.”

he grabs his briefcase without waiting for your approval, already turning his back to you and heading to the door. panic flashes through you instantly. 

“stop–”

he doesn’t stop. he doesn’t even slow down. 

before he can reach the exit, you move after him quickly and on instinct, your hand shot out, fingers wrapping firmly around his wrist. the contact was intense, a sudden jolt of heat that seemed to stop time itself. mark halted instantly, his entire body stiffening under your touch. 

everything went quiet again. 

your warm hand felt like a stark contrast to the coldness of the room. for a long moment, neither of you spoke. the only sound was the synchronized, heavy thrum of two hearts beating too fast. 

“please…”

your voice broke, coming out softer this time, smaller, stripped of all the corporate armor. you weren’t the composed heir of azur. you weren’t the intimidating billionaire’s daughter who could buy and sell companies with a signature.

you were just you. 

“...mark.”

the sound of his name in your voice nearly destroys him. it was the voice of the girl he had spent five years trying to forget and failing every single day. the voice he swore he’d give everything to and up for. 

slowly, agonizingly, he turned back toward you. the second his eyes meet yours – the second he saw the raw vulnerability and the unshed tears shimmering in your gaze – his frustration cracked. 

SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA: FIVE YEARS AGO  

❄️ AUGUST: MY HEART, IT BEATS FOR YOU. ❄️

“baby, where are we going?,” mark asked, his voice a breathless whisper against the shell of your ear, followed by a soft, airy laugh as your fingers were locked tight around his wrist, practically dragging him through the halls. 

you didn’t answer until you slipped through the heavy door into a tiny, abandoned lab room, “i thought maybe you could use a break,” you murmur, a teasing smile on your face as your back met the door. 

you didn’t give him a chance to respond. in one fluid motion, you reached up, your fingers tangling in the soft hair at the nape of his neck, and pulled him towards you. his lips connected with yours in an instant – not the hesitant, shy kisses of the library a month ago, but something deeper, more certain. 

a kiss that confirmed how well the two of you knew each other now. both of you smiled into the contact, a soft, breathless sound echoing in the small room as your tongues met in a slow, rhythmic synchronization. 

okay…maybe a lot had changed since that night in the library. the tentative boundaries had dissolved, replaced by a magnetic pull neither of you could – or wanted to – resist.

and mark had lied – you were the biggest distraction of his life. every lecture he attended, every page of the textbooks he pored over, every ambitious goal he set for his future – it all started having versions of you. 

you had become the singular, pulsing rhythm of his existence. 

for the first time in his life, the relentless drive for academic perfection felt secondary. the presentations, the grades, the pressure to succeed – it all failed in comparison to the way you felt in his arms. he didn’t care that his focus was fracturing, he welcomed the chaos you brought into his orderly world. 

mark realized that his heart had learned a new way to beat – a way it can only for you. 

“breaks are good,” he teases, the inside joke sparking a small, breathless laugh between you, vanishing the moment his lips left yours, trailing kisses down your jawline to that sensitive spot on your neck, his teeth grazing your skin, eliciting a soft, whiny moan from you as your head fell back against the cold metal of the door. 

“what do you want, baby?,” he whispered directly into your ear, his breath hot and sending goosebumps down your spine. 

“you know what i want, markie,” you pouted, voice winded, your body already humming with a need for him. 

mark pulled back just enough to look at you, his silver glasses sitting prettily on his nose. he leaned in and kissed the pout away softly, sucking on your lower lip in a way that made your stomach flip. then – without breaking eye contact – he slowly sank to his knees. 

from this angle, he looked up at you, his silver glasses glinting, his expression a lethal combination of devotion and lust. his hand slid up your bare legs, under the fabric of your skirt until his fingers brushed the lace edges of your panties, teasing the sensitive skin of you inner thigh with his thumb, circling closer and closer to your center without actually touching it. 

“mark…please,” you whispered, voice breaking slightly as you gripped his shoulders, your nails digging into his shirt, desperate for the contact.

he hummed a low, guttural sound of satisfaction, “patience,” he murmured, a playful smile on his lips. 

slowly, agonizingly, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties, dragging them down your legs, eyes still locked on yours. once they were off, he tucked the lace into the back pocket of his jeans with a smirk that was entirely too confident for the “nerdy” student the rest of the campus knew. 

then – he leaned in. 

the first touch of his tongue was hot. you let out a sharp gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair to hold him in place. mark ate you as if he was hungry, his tongue licking up and down your folds, tasting every drop of your wetness, then going up to swirl circles around your clit, flicking rapidly against the sensitive nub before sucking it deep into his mouth. 

you hadn’t had sex yet – you had both agreed to take it slow. but the way mark worshipped you with his mouth made the idea of “slow” feel like a torture you were happy to endure. he knew exactly where to press, exactly how much pressure to apply. exactly how to use his fingers to open you up, sliding one, then two, deep into your soaking wet heat, curling his fingers perfectly. 

“fuck–mark–right there–,” you gasped, your legs shaking around his shoulders. 

he groaned against you, the sound muffled by your skin as he increased the pace. he was relentless, lapping you with the same focused intensity he had when he was concentrating on his research. 

you could feel the tension building, a coil tightening in your lower belly until your head was up in the clouds, eyes rolling back, body shuddering as your thighs unintentionally clamp around his head. he didn’t pull away, drinking every drop of your release, his tongue continuing to draw circles until the last of the tremors faded. 

as he finally pulled back, breathless and glistening with your juices, he looked up at you with a look of pure, unadulterated devotion. mark stood up slowly, pulling you flush against him, your shaking legs barely supporting your weight as you leaned into him, listening to the thrum of his heart. he held you softly, arms around your waist, gently rubbing your back to soothe you from the high, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

when the world began to stop spinning, you pulled back just an inch, eyes fluttering open to find him staring at you. his silver glasses were crooked, sliding down the bridge of his noise, his lips swollen and pink – he looked absolutely undone. 

a smile tugged at your lips as you reached up, gently pushing his glasses back to place, the simple, domestic gesture feeling incredibly intimate. mark caught your wrist, pressing a lingering, tender kiss to your palm, his eyes never leaving yours. 

“you’re my favorite break,” he winked, voice low, teasing.

“...and you’re a very good student, mark,” you joked, your voice still airy. 

he lets out a soft chuckle, leaning in for a soft lingering kiss. 

you weren’t the only distraction – mark was just as bad. 

he craved you as much as you craved him. the only difference was you gave into his touch much quicker than he did yours, his moral responsibility stopping him most of the time.

except for right now. 

mark loved to please you and tease you at the same time. and he was currently hitting two birds with one stone at the moment. because under the heavy drape of his cardigan, which he had strategically placed on your lap to act as a shield from the rest of the class – two of mark’s digits were buried deep inside your soaking pussy, stretching you open and claiming you in the middle of a lecture. your professor was going on and on about market penetration and consumer loyalty, not knowing mark was practicing a very different kind of penetration.

his fingers curl upward, dragging along your sensitive spot with a precision that made your vision blur. you kept your gaze fixed forward, staring at the presentation, but the words were nothing more than meaningless letters. you grip your pen as he continues playing with you, dragging your wetness up to your clit before sliding back into you over and over and over again. 

your walls tighten around his fingers, a reflexive, desperate squeeze. you weren’t sure if you wanted to pull him deeper into your heat or push him away before you lost all control. but as he began to pick up the pace, you knew there was no escape. 

he leaned in closer, his shoulder brushing you, his clean, cotton scent enveloping you, “focus, baby,” he whispered, his voice playful, “you wouldn’t want to miss the most important part of the lesson.”

you glance at him, your eyes silently pleading. you want him to stop. you don’t want him to stop. 

you felt the first wave of a climax beginning to burst, your breath hitching – a small, broken sound escaping your throat that you barely managed to disguise as a cough. you were drowning in him, your pussy clamping down hard on his hand for every bit of friction. you wanted to scream, to arch your back and moan his name until the entire hall fell silent. but instead, you bit your lip, your fingers coming up to shield the gasp from your lips.

❄️ SEPTEMBER TO OCTOBER: THE WORLD, IN COLOR. ❄️

the next two months were a blur of playfulness. your relationship with mark became a delicate dance of adoration and a healthy, simmering obsession. there were sneaky touches in the quiet corners of the library – your hand sliding up his thigh under the table while you both pretended to discuss, quiet nights in his small apartment where you spent hours tangled together innocently…or maybe not so innocently. you had done everything except crossing that final line, the pact of taking things slow still withstanding somehow. 

but the physical chemistry, as explosive as it was, paled in comparison to the emotional haven he provided - mark was patience and kindness personified. neither of you had uttered those three specific words yet, but you felt it in every lingering gaze, every protective gesture, every day spent in each other’s company. 

like that afternoon at the park, when he decided you needed to step out of your comfort zone and onto a skateboard–

“markie…i’m scared,” you whined, your voice sounding smaller than usual as you wobbled on the four-wheeled contraption. 

he laughed softly, “babe, i’m literally holding you right now,” he pointed out, his warm hands softly placed on your waist, grounding you.

“well…hold me tighter!,” you groan, genuine panic in your voice. you’ve never done anything like this before. you were used to being prim and proper. piano lessons. language classes. afternoon teas — skateboarding was not on the approved list of activities for a girl like you. 

mark didn’t tease you for your hesitation. instead, he guided your hips to help you find your balance, a steady presence that made the world feel less tilted. 

“see? it’s not so bad,” he murmured softly, his grip on your waist loosening just a fraction. “you think you can do it if i let go?”

“ok–ok,” you nodded, trying to summon a courage you didn't know you possessed, “i’ll try.”

before he released you, he pulled you in for a quick kiss while you stayed standing on the skateboard, “you got this, baby.”

and then you were skating – all on your own! the wind whipped through your hair, the golden sun kissing your skin, and for a moment, you felt an exhilarating sense of freedom. mark jogged beside you, his laughter harmonizing with your own as you navigated the pavement, feeling like you were flying.

for a while, you were doing pretty well…until the wheel got caught on a tiny rock, which sent you tumbling straight to the ground. 

mark was at your side in a fraction of a second, his voice laced with immediate concern, “holy shit, babe–you okay?!”

you winced, sitting up slowly to inspect your scraped knee. the skin was raw and bleeding. instinctively, you felt the old walls go up, terrified of being yelled at for being weak or clumsy, so you put on your usual front, that cool stoic composure that showed you could handle the pain, handle yourself. you braced yourself to tell him you were fine, to play the part of the girl who never falters. 

but then mark reached out, his touch incredibly gentle as he carefully turned your leg toward him. he didn't look at the wound with pity, but with a strange kind of reverence.

“your first skateboarding battle scar,” he says in awe, like it was an achievement, “i remember mine…i cried for like 3 hours straight, my dad had to buy me so much ice cream.”

hearing him admit his own vulnerability acted like a key to a lock - the mask crumbled, and you let the tears fall, hot and fast.

“-it hurts a lot, markie,” you finally admit. because with him, you could be soft. vulnerable. you didn’t have to be so protective of your emotions knowing he will gladly hold it in his hands. 

“yeah–i thought so,” he teases you playfully, leaning in to give you a kiss on the forehead, “come on…let’s clean that up.”

he settled you onto a park bench, disappearing for a few minutes to the nearby convenience store. when he returned, he knelt between your legs with a first aid kit, working with meticulous care to clean the scrape and blowing softly on the skin to soothe the sting. after carefully applying a spider-man themed bandaid, he pressed a tiny, sweet kiss directly onto the plastic.

then – he pulled three stems of vibrant gerbaras from his back pocket.

“congrats, skateboard warrior,” he says, a gentle, crooked smile on his lips. his eyes full of adoration reserved exclusively for you. 

as you looked up at him, the weight of your own history pressed against your chest — you had known care, but you had never known love. 

you had accepted that your future would be a mirror of your past – cold. lonely. meticulously managed. because for twenty-one years, your existence had been a cage. your father was a man of stone, a man who viewed emotions as liabilities. and then there was your mother – a ghost from the moment you were born, a sacrifice made for your first breath. 

you had grown up in a house of echoing hallways and heavy silences, raised by a rotating carousel of maids and nannies – people who were kind, yes, but whose kindness came with a price.

but mark was different.

mark never asked for anything in return. he cared about you simply because he cares about you. 

with him, the world had color. 

the loneliness that had been your constant companion for two decades vanished whenever he looked at you with those honest, yearning eyes. 

a tiny, fragile seed of hope had begun to grow in your chest – the idea that you could be loved for who you were, not for the empire you were destined to inherit or the image you were forced to project.

you only wanted this – the scent of the outdoors, the sting of a scraped knee, and the overwhelming, dizzying realization that for the first time in your life, you were truly seen.

“thank you, markie,” you whispered, your voice thick with an emotion you were finally allowing yourself to feel.

he leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath warm on your skin. “always, baby.”

❄️ NOVEMBER: THE REMINDER. ❄️

that hope was crushed before it could fully bloom.

“your father has heard about your grades dropping,” johnny’s vice broke the silence. 

you were standing outside the university’s main entrance, the cool air clinging to your skin. johnny, your personal driver and security guard, stood tall right in front of you, the black sedan by his side. his expression was unreadable but there was a flicker of pity in his eyes that you hated. 

“it’s fine,” you replied, your voice sliding into that cool, nonchalant mask you wore for the world, “i can get them back up. it was just a rough month.”

johnny sighed, a sound of genuine weariness, “he knows you’ve been hanging out with a boy.”

the air seemed to leave your lungs then, “h-how does he know that?”

“your father has eyes everywhere, ms. y/n,” johnny says softly. 

the reminder hit you hard. in the bubble of your happiness with mark, you had forgotten who you were. you had forgotten that you were less a daughter and more a prized asset under constant surveillance. you had let yourself believe, even for a second, that you were invisible.

at that moment, a familiar figure appeared at the university gates. mark waves at you, his face lighting up with a smile that usually made your knees weak, but as he caught sight of johnny, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.  

you forced a quick smile toward mark before turning back to johnny, your voice a desperate whisper, “just don’t say anything, okay? i can handle it. i’ll fix the grades, i’ll be perfect. just…dont tell him about mark.”

“i won’t ms. y/n,” he replies, “but i can’t promise he won’t find out on his own.”

you nodded slowly, the dread pooling in your stomach. you knew your father. he didn’t just find things out – he hunted them down. he dismantled secrets until there was nothing left but the truth. 

you saw mark walking toward you in your peripheral vision, his stride confident and eager. 

“go. don’t bow. just get in the car and leave,” you hurried to whisper as johnny quickly followed your instructions, sliding into the driver’s seat and pulling away from the curb without a word. 

“baby, who was that?” mark asks as he steps beside you. he naturally reaches out, taking your bag from your shoulder to carry it for you, his eyes searching yours, sensing the tremor you were trying so hard to hide. 

“no one,” you lie, the words tasting like ash. you curl your arm in his, beaming up at him with a fake radiance, as you guide him back towards the campus, “he just needed directions.”

as you walked, you leaned your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes for a briefest second. you clung to him, terrified that the moment you let go, the walls of your father’s world would close in and tear you apart. 

SHANGHAI, CHINA: PRESENT TIME

💎 THE WEIGHT OF YOUR WORLD. 💎

the air in the conference room felt suffocating for mark. he sat rigidly in his chair, the sleek surface of the table reflecting a version of himself that looked composed, professional and entirely hollow. 

he wasn’t paying much attention. instead, he was trapped in a loop, his mind obsessively replaying the final moments of yesterday. 

“...mark.”

the way you had whispered his name had sliced through his defenses like a razor. it was a sound he had tried to scrub from his memory for five whole years, the voice that had haunted his every failed attempt at moving on. 

he remembered the moment his eyes locked on yours, expecting to see the cold, calculating mask you’ve been carrying lately. instead, he found raw, bleeding vulnerability. your gaze had been his undoing – it had cracked the carefully constructed wall of frustration he’d spent years building. 

“why me?” he asked, sounding small and desperate, only wanting to hear one answer from you. 

“because,” you had started, voice trembling, “because–we already know each other.”

wrong answer.

“not good enough,” he sighed, a sound of profound defeat, before slowly peeling your fingers from his grip. he had walked out, leaving you alone in this same room. but he had carried the weight of your gaze with him every second since. 

“why is ms. y/n not here today,” mr. zhong’s voice cut through the room, sharp and demanding. he turned his gaze toward winter, who was sitting in your spot, her tablet in her hands. 

“uhm,” winter stammered, shifting uncomfortably, “personal matters, sir…she’s asked me to sit in and take notes for the day.”

mr. zhong gave a curt, dismissive nod. mark tunes the meeting all out, just correcting a few technical facts here and there, his mind miles away. your disappearance is hitting him harder than it should. he hated it. absolutely loathed the way he can’t stop thinking about where you were or who you were with. he hated that a single day of your absence felt like a physical withdrawal, leaving him restless and irritable. 

he had spent half a decade convincing himself that he was over you, that the life with the girl in seoul was a fantasy he had outgrown. but as he watched winter scribble notes in your place, mark realized with a sinking sense of dread – he was still just as enslaved to you as he had been at twenty-one.

he didn’t just want you in the room…he wanted to know what you were feeling. he wanted to know if you were thinking about him with the same destructive intensity that was currently eating him alive. 

the silence of your absence was louder than any argument you could have had, and it was driving him insane. 

you didn’t show up until 3 days later. 

immediately, mark knew something bad had happened. your eyes are sadder – a depth of grief and exhaustion that seemed impossible, considering how hauntingly lonely they had already looked. 

then, he saw it. a tiny, faint purple mark on your cheekbone that no one would notice if they didn’t look at you with the same precision as he did. 

“i reviewed everything,” you said, addressing mr. zhong. 

you haven’t looked at mark once this entire meeting. it was as if you were terrified that if you did, he’d unravel you completely. 

“it looks good–my father has scheduled a meeting in our home office in two days for finalization,” you continued. 

mr. zhong nodded, “alright, sounds good with me. mark and karina you’ll be attending with me…will you be present ms. y/n?”

“no,” you replied, a forced smile touching your lips, “i think it’s best for you if i wasn’t there.” 

you keep it simple and mark desperately wants to ask why? why would the heir of azur exclude herself from a meeting in her own home?

the moment the meeting ended, you excused yourself quickly. winter followed closed behind. 

mark couldn’t let it go. 

“ms. y/n, wait a minute,” he called out, his voice echoing through the glass-walled hallway. 

you stopped abruptly, your shoulders tensing as you turn to winter, your voice low, “i’ll meet you in the car.”

once she had disappeared around the corner, you turned to face him, the professionalism back on like a suit of armor. 

“did we forget to discuss anything in the meeting?” you asked.

mark didn’t answer immediately. he stood there, reading you. a bitter thought surfacing from the depths of his mind – do i even know you? 

five years ago, he had fallen for the girl you were. but he didn’t really know that girl, did he? there were so many things you didn’t say. so many things he wasn’t aware of. you had hidden your entire world from him, and now – that world seemed to be crushing you. 

“if there is nothing else to discuss, i will be going, director,” you continue, your voice breaking him out of his thoughts—

he doesn’t care. 

about the lies. about who you were then and who you are now. his heart is still beating for you the same way it did before.

he stepped forward then, slowly, noticing the way your eyebrows furrow slightly in surprise. he didn’t stop until he was in your personal space, the scent of your perfume intoxicating him. then his hand rose, his fingers carefully grazing your jawline, thumb moving with slow tenderness, gently caressing the hidden purple mark on your cheekbone – the touch light but with a heavy intent. 

you have been exposed. 

“who did this?,” he whispers, his voice thick with a mixture of care and fury. 

your breath hitched, a broken sound in the quiet hallway. for a split second, the mask slipped, your eyes fluttered and every fiber of your being screamed to lean into him, to collapse against his chest and let him carry the weight of your world for just a little bit. you craved the sanctuary of his arms, the feeling of being seen and protected. 

but you knew the cost. you knew that giving yourself a taste of heaven when you were destined for hell only made the fall more painful. 

you pulled back, your expression snapping shut, turning ice cold, “excuse me.”

you turned away from him, leaving him standing alone in the glass hallway, his thumb still tingling from the touch of your skin. the silence between you once again becomes a deafening roar. 

there was no point dreaming again. 

he isn’t going to save you. he made that clear already. 

SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA: FIVE YEARS AGO  

❄️ BACK TO DECEMBER. ❄️

you were curled up on the couch of mark’s tiny apartment, him sitting right beside you. you spent most of your days here, claiming your apartment was “too far” and “too tiny.” 

today, he had insisted on watching eternal sunshine of the spotless mind, swearing it was one of his favorite movies of all time.

you stare at the notification that pinged on your phone, a sigh leaving your lips. 

“hmm?,” he hums as he presses a soft kiss to the curve of your shoulder, “something wrong, baby?”

“my flight got cancelled due to the snow storms,” you murmured, turning your phone toward him.

mark’s eyes widened as he processed the words, “wait…so you can’t go home?” 

you nodded slowly, a tight-lipped smile on your face. truthfully, you didn’t mind at all. the holidays have always been lonelier – a mansion full of people you didn’t know, a towering tree filled with presents you never liked and a father who showed up like it was a meeting and not a holiday. in hindsight, it might be nice to not pretend to care about all of it. 

but the way mark is looking at you now seems like you just delivered the worst news of all time, his brows furrowed in that earnest, protective way. you almost laugh, he was too cute, too concerned for a girl who had spent her whole life pretending she didn’t need anyone.

“it’s okay…i don’t really mind, i’ll probably just–”

“why don’t you just come home with me for christmas break?” 

you quirked a brow, blinking up at him, “and meet your parents?”

“yeah,” he shrugs, as if he were suggesting you grab another round of ramen rather than introducing you to his family. 

you lean back a bit, searching his eyes for any sign of teasing. but there was only that steady, unwavering affection. 

“isn’t a little too soon? i mean…we’ve only been together for six months. i don’t want to intrude or make your family uncomfor-”

before you can finish your sentence, he shuts you up with a kiss that you melt into instantly. when he pulled back, he nudged his nose against yours, his eyes searching yours with tenderness.

“baby…no one should have to spend the holidays alone,” he whispered sweetly. if only he knew how many holidays you’ve spent by yourself. 

“are you sure it’s okay though?,” you ask shyly. 

“more than okay,” he insisted, curling an arm around your shoulder and pulling you closer to his side, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. he sounded so certain, so effortless, as if bringing you into his world was the most natural thing ever, “now…watch this part, it’s my favorite.”

you smiled, a genuine, radiant, tiny thing that reached your eyes as you leaned your head on his shoulder. 

you and mark arrive at his parent’s home two days before christmas day. the drive there had been a blur of falling snowflakes and heavy suffocating silence built from your whirlwind of anxiety. by the time his car finally pulled into the driveway, your stomach had tied itself into knots. for the first time in your life, you were truly nervous.

mark saw right through you. as you stepped out into the cold winter air, he reached for your hand, his fingers interlocking with yours before lifting it up to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to the back of it. 

“don’t worry,” he murmured, eyes searching yours, “they’re going to love you.”

you managed a small nod, hoping he was right. before you could spiral any further – the front door swings open. a woman rushed down the porch, her coat barely thrown over her shoulders, her face alight with pure joy. 

“mark!”

your boyfriend barely has time to react before she’s pulling him into a tight hug. 

“mom–”

“oh, look at you!,” she exclaims, pulling back just enough to grab his face between both hands, her thumbs brushing over his cheekbones, “you’ve gotten thinner! are you eating? tell me you’re eating!”

“i’ve just been busy, mom,” mark groaned, though he didn’t pull away. 

“you need vitamins,” she insisted, her voice filled with motherly concern. 

“i have vitamins.”

“you should take more!”

you bit your lip to stop yourself from laughing. mark looks absolutely horrified while his mother is completely unbothered as she presses kisses all over his cheeks. 

“mom!,” mark groaned, his voice cracking slightly. 

“what! i missed my baby!” she exclaims, lightly slapping his arm with a playful grin.

you let out a laugh before you can stop it. mark immediately turns toward you, his expression a mix of betrayal and embarrassment. you tried to look apologetic. you really do. but the sight of him standing there, ears red with embarrassment while his mother fussed over him, was simply too cute. 

it was all so foreign to you — the casual affection, the ease of their interaction, the warmth radiating from a woman who loved her son without conditions or expectations. you had spent your entire life watching families from a distance and now you were standing in the middle of one. 

eventually, mark manages to escape, stepping back to regain whatever shred of dignity he had left. 

“mom,” he says, clearing his throat and gesturing toward you, “this is y/n.”

immediately, his mother’s attention shifts to you. you felt the air leave your lungs as she looked you up and down. in that moment, you realized exactly where mark got his intensity – she looked at you with the exact same focused, piercing gaze. for one terrifying second, the old instincts kicked in. you waited for the judgment, the assessment of your status, the cold calculation of whether you were “suitable.”

but then – her entire face lit up. 

and before you could even utter a greeting, she pulled you into her arms. the hug was warm. soft. it felt real. 

she pulled back just enough to cup your face between both hands, her touch gentle and sincere, “oh, you’re beautiful,” she said immediately, her voice brimming with warmth. 

you blink, whispering a soft, “thank you.”

“look at her, mark!” she says excitedly, turning towards her son with an excited glow. 

“i am looking at her,” he replies, voice softening with a smirk of amusement. 

“she has such pretty eyes–and her nose–and her lips–”

you felt a sudden, treacherous prickle of tears in your eye, which felt ridiculous…she’s just being kind. but nobody has ever looked at you like this before. not as a tool for a merger, not as an heir to fortune — but as a person. like you belonged somewhere. like they were happy you existed. your throat tightened and you looked down for a moment, thankful that the falling snow hid the sudden shimmer in your eyes. 

“okay, mom–” mark says eventually, gently placing a hand on her shoulder to pull her back. you almost reached out to stop him, wanting to stay in that warmth just a second longer, “-don’t kill her now.”

“oh, i’m sorry,” she says sheepishly, though she immediately went back to hold your face, “i’m just so excited.”

“clearly,” mark comments, which she ignores completely. 

“you know, he’s never brought a girl home before,” she confides to you, leaning in as if sharing a top secret. 

you smiled, glancing at mark with a playful glint in your eyes, “really?”

“i was starting to think he was going to marry his research papers,” she sighs, shaking her head in mock disappointment. 

“mom.”

“-or a microscope,” she continues relentlessly.

“MOM!” mark exclaims, his voice hitting a higher octave. 

you burst out in giggles, the sound echoing through the driveway as he groaned loudly. even his mother joined in, her laughter melodic and bright.

“i’m serious,” she said, wiping a tear from her eye,  “the boy works too much.”

looking at him now, you understood everything — why he was so patient, why he was so honest and why he’s the man that he is. he came from a house that felt warm. a place where the air was thick with love and the walls held the echoes of laughter. the kind of place where people tease each other because they know they’ll be loved anyway. the kind of place you had only ever dreamed of. 

“come on,” his mother says suddenly, slipping her arm through yours and pulling you close, “let’s get you inside before you freeze out here.”

and just like that – she starts pulling you toward the house, her chatter filling the space between you. you looked back over your shoulder to see mark standing alone in the driveway, surrounded by snowflakes and two heavy suitcases. he didn’t look annoyed. he just stood there, shaking his head with a fond, helpless smile, following after the two most important women in his life. 

the day before christmas, mark’s mom suggested he bring you to the tiny ice skating rink downtown. the weather was a bit better now, the sun peeking shyly through the clouds, making the fresh snow sparkle like scattered diamonds.

the rink itself was small, just a sheet of ice surrounded by wooden fences and strings of christmas twinkling lights. the only other people on the ice were a family with three children who skated with confidence. the rest of the town seemed to be preparing for christmas eve tonight. the only sound you could hear is from the overhead speakers currently playing music from the one employee in charge at the moment. 

and then there was you and mark. 

to say you were struggling would be the understatement of the century. you were fighting for your lives, both of you looking like newborn kittens trying to walk for the first time. one minute you were standing, the next your feet would betray you, sliding sideways. mark would lunge forward to catch you, his instincts to protect you overriding his own balance, only to send both of you crashing down. 

the two of you fell on your asses way too many times that at one point, you just laid there.

“this is actually embarrassing,” you groaned. 

mark was lying beside you, his chest heaving slightly, his cheeks flushed a deep, healthy pink from the chilly air as you two stared up at the winter sky.

“i don’t know what you mean…,” he teased, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he turned to look at you, “i’ve been falling on purpose. i just wanted to see how you looked from this angle.”

you let out a huff of laughter, the sound turning into a small cloud of steam. the smiles on your faces never wavered, a shared secret of clumsiness and joy. 

after accepting total defeat, you rented one of the skating aids shaped like a polar bear, usually reserved for children learning how to skate for the first time. and now, you were pushing said polar bear across the ice while mark attempted to skate behind you, his hands resting firmly on your shoulders to steady himself.

“this tiny thing is carrying our entire relationship,” mark declared.

“respect the bear, markie,” you joked, glancing back at him with a grin, “he’s our hero.”

the three children passed you again. for the seventh time. one of them, a little girl who couldn’t have been older than seven, let out a high-pitched giggle as she skated past you with effortless grace, her eyes wide with amusement. 

“we’re being judged by children,” mark sighed, though he didn’t let go of your shoulders. 

“they’re just jealous because we have a bear and they don’t,” you countered. 

the two of you dissolved into laughter again. 

when a particular song came on, mark couldn’t resist pulling you closer towards him, his hands shifting from your shoulders to your waist. he leaned in, his head resting on the crook of your neck, his warm breath ghosting over your skin and sending shivers down your spine. 

he began to hum – then, he whispered the words directly into your ear, his lips slightly brushing your skin– 

“saw so many pretty faces, before i saw you…now all i see is you.”

the butterflies exploded then – a surge of heat rushing to your cheeks. you tried to maintain some of your composure, but you failed miserably, smiling like an idiot as you leaned your head back against his shoulder. 

in that moment, surrounded by the scent of winter and the warmth of his embrace, you felt a terrifyingly beautiful realization – you have never been this happy before. you found yourself wishing, with every fiber of your being that time would simply stop. 

you wanted to stay right here forever, frozen in the ice.  

christmas eve was spent gathered around the lee family’s dining table. the house smelled like meat, spices, and freshly baked pastries. soft christmas music drifted from the living room while colorful lights from the tree blinked quietly in the corner. the clock on the wall ticked closer and closer to midnight, a feast large enough to feed twice the number of people spread across the table. 

and for the first time in your life — christmas didn’t feel lonely. 

you sat beside mark, your shoulder brushing his, your knees occasionally bumping beneath the table. across from you sat his older brother, a man who seemed to have made it his life’s mission to keep mark humble, teasing him whenever the opportunity presented itself. his mother occupied the seat beside his brother, her presence a radiant warmth while his father sat at the head of the table. the kind of family gatherings you’d only ever seen in movies, the kind you had secretly craved since you were a little girl. 

before everyone began eating, marks father cleared his throat. the room immediately fell into silence as he folded his hands together and bowed his head slightly. the rest of the family followed suit, and you found yourself mimicking them, bowing your head in a gesture of belonging. 

mark’s hand found yours beneath the table, his fingers sliding between yours, squeezing gently as his father began a simple prayer filled with gratitude. you wouldn’t exactly call yourself religious. in a world where your value was measured by your lineage and your obedience, you had never been given much reason to believe in anything. but if there was a god, you’d like to thank him for this moment, too. 

immediately after the prayer, the silence broke into a flurry of activity – mark’s mom began piling food on your plate, urging you to try every single dish she had prepared. and every single one of them was better than every five-star meal you’d ever eaten. conversation flowed easily around the table – stories from mark’s childhood, his brother exposing family secrets, his mother laughing so hard she nearly spilled her drink. 

even mark’s father smiled more than you expected. he was quieter than the others but there’s a gentleness to him you hadn’t noticed initially. at first glance, he had seemed intimidating but after spending two days with the family, you realized all the lee men were all built from the same blueprint – quiet on the outside, soft on the inside. they didn’t shout their love, they lived it in the small, steady ways they cared for one another.  

then, right in the middle of dinner – mark’s father looked directly at the two of you. 

“so.”

the entire table went quiet. the clinking of silverware ceased. mark’s brother stopped mid-sentence, an amused grin spreading across his face.

“do the the two of you plan on getting married?”

mark nearly choked on his fried chicken while your eyes widened slightly, heart skipping a beat. 

”dad!” mark managed to gasp out, his face flushing a deep, vivid crimson. 

”what?” his father replied, completely unfazed. 

mark looks absolutely horrified, his gaze darting around the table as if searching for an escape route. meanwhile, your heart had completely stopped. talks of marriage wasn’t anything new to you. you had been a pawn in the game since you turned eighteen, your father presenting you with a curated list of bachelors of his choosing. but — this was the first time you’d ever considered the word and felt happy. 

“wh-what??” mark sputtered, his voice an octave higher than usual, “dad, we just started dating.” his ears were bright red now, a shade of embarrassment you’ve never seen on him before. he’s finding it very hard to look at you or anyone else at the moment. 

unfortunately for him, his father wasn’t finished. 

”what’s the point of dating if not to marry?,” he asked reasonably, pointing his chopsticks vaguely between the two of you, “you should date someone because you see a future together… don't be like all the other kids these days who are just doing it for fun.”

mark looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. but you didn’t mind at all. you didn’t find it awkward or overbearing. because despite how old-fashioned the conversation was – if mark had asked you to marry him right now…the answer would’ve been an immediate yes. you would say it before he even finished the sentence, give up everything just to ensure you could spend every christmas eve for the rest of your life at this table. 

“uhm…” mark finally managed, his voice dropping, losing it’s frantic edge. his eyes flickered towards you briefly, the horror in his expression softening into something vulnerable, “we haven’t really talked about it,” his voice softened, “…yet.”

yet. the word lingered. small but full of possibility. 

his father nodded thoughtfully, his gaze shifting from mark to you, his eyes searching, almost intuitive. 

“but you love each other don’t you?”

the room suddenly felt much quieter. mark froze. and so did you. neither of you had said that word yet. not once. not out loud. you felt it – you knew you did. every second you spent with him made that increasingly obvious. but the words had remained trapped between you, unspoken and waiting for a moment that felt safe enough to hold them.

his dad continues relentlessly, “marriage is the easiest thing in the world, as long as you truly love each other.”

the simplicity of the statement felt like a blow. for mark’s family, love was the foundation, the easy part. for you, love was the most dangerous thing you had ever encountered – a rebellion against everything your father stood for, a flicker of light in a life designed to be cold. 

thankfully – his mom finally intervened, sensing the sheer panic radiating off her son. 

“okay, okay!,” she waved her hand dramatically, a bright melodic sound that broke the spell, "let them figure it out for themselves, okay? they’re still young, after all! they still have so many dreams to achieve,” she added lightly, a bubble of laughter slipping from her lips.

she turned to her husband and shook her head fondly, “god, you can be such an old man, sometimes,” she teases, the entire table dissolving into laughter then, the tension slowly disappearing.

”alright,” his dad chuckles, paying attention to his food instead.

everyone resumes eating after that, conversations returned to normal — stories about the ice rink, questions about classes, updates about work. the kind of ordinary conversations you’d spent your entire life missing. 

but while everyone else talked — your gaze drifted toward your boyfriend. 

he was laughing at something his brother had just whispered, his eyes crinkling at the corners, the twinkling lights reflecting in the dark depths of his pupils. and you realized his mom was wrong–

you didn’t have dreams. 

dreams were for people free to choose their futures. and your future had been decided for you long ago. you were a piece on a chessboard, a legacy to be preserved, a daughter to be traded for power. 

as you watched mark steal a piece of meat from your plate with a cheeky grin because his mother had given you the best portions – you realized the truth. 

the only dream you’d ever truly had is him. 

it wasn’t a career, or a title, or a destination. it’s this. the sound of his laughter, the smell of his skin, the way his hand feels in yours. your dream was this family – filled with a loud, messy unconditional love that you had never known. 

when the clock finally struck christmas day, “merry christmas” bounced around the dining room, overlapping with laughter and smiles. 

mark’s mom pulled you into a hug so tight, pressing a warm kiss against your temple. his dad patted your shoulder once, a small smile appearing on his face. and his older brother gave you an awkward high five. then mark looked at you. he wore that soft, devastating smile you had memorized in every detail – his eyes crinkled, the slight tilt of his head. he leaned down slightly, pressing a kiss against your cheek.

“merry christmas, baby,” he whispered directly into your ear, your heart responding immediately. 

for the first time you understood why people loved the holidays so much. it wasn’t the presents, or the decorations, or the food. it was the feeling of home. of being wanted. of being loved. 

“ahhh,” mark’s mom yawns, stretching her arms over her head. 

”you should head to bed, mom,” mark says immediately, his voice tender, “y/n and i can take care of the dishes.”

”oh, nonsense!,” she waved her hand dismissively, “y/n is a guest! she shouldn’t touch a single dish.”

you laugh. you wouldn’t mind washing up for her. in fact, the idea of contributing to his home, however small the task, felt like a privilege. even if, in reality, your experience with housework was limited to directing staff. 

mark rolls his eyes, glancing at you with a smirk, “fine, i’ll wash the dishes,” he conceded, “she can supervise.”

“now that’s a good plan,” his mother declared, satisfied. 

“mommm,” his brother suddenly spoke up from across the table, a dangerous smile appearing on his face, “i think they just want alone time to–”

before he could continue – mark’s foot connected with his brother’s shin under the table, “HYUNG!”

the table dissolves into another round of laughter. mark looked seconds away from throwing himself out a window. he wonders if his family has made it their personal responsibility to embarrass him as much as possible this evening. 

“fine, fine….,” mark’s mom stood up while still chuckling. she was clearly her son’s only savior in this house of chaos. 

“we’re gonna call it a night, the old people need their sleep,” she jokes before finally retreating to her bedroom with her husband, leaving the three of you on the dining table.

”have fun making out in the kitchen,” his older brother teases, leaning back in his chair. 

”we’re not even gonna do that,” mark groans.

”whatever, lil bro…just don’t make me an uncle, i don’t have the money to spoil the child yet,” he stands up, pointing toward the two of you dramatically. 

“oh my god, leave!”

”goodnight, y/n,” the older boy smiles at you innocently before getting up and walking back into his own room as well.

“goodnight,” you reply back, an amused smile lingering on your lips. 

mark turns to you then with a sheepish smile, “god, i’m so sorry about them…we’re all so close i think we forgot what boundaries are.” 

your smile softened immediately, the warmth in your chest expanding, “don’t worry about it, markie, it’s nice.”

the nickname made him smile automatically as you leaned forward, closing the small gap between you and pressing a gentle, lingering kiss against his lips to comfort him. mark melted instantly, as he always did when it came to you, his strength dissolving into a soft, needy vulnerability. when you finally pulled away, he looked significantly less traumatized, his eyes hazy with affection, almost glad that his family didn’t send you running. 

“better?” you tease softly. 

“can i have another one?”

you laughed, “wash the dishes first.”

as promised, mark ended up washing every dish and true to your role as a supervisor, you stood beside him drying them afterward. the kitchen was quiet and peaceful. the rest of the house asleep. christmas lights from the living room still casted a warm glow across the counters while the soft christmas music still drifted faintly. 

neither of you said much, you simply basked in the usual comfortable silence and worked together naturally. passing plates. drying glasses. putting things away. it was such an ordinary, mundane task. and yet – you couldn’t stop thinking about how much you loved this over everything else. nothing had ever made you feel this at peace – standing in your socks in a small kitchen at one in the morning, drying dishes with the boy who owns your heart.

it’s the kind of happiness that made you want things you shouldn’t – a future that wasn’t a business contract. a home that smelled like christmas and laundry. a family that laughed until they cried. a life where the only expectation was to love and be loved in return.

you glanced toward mark, watching him absentmindedly roll up his sleeves higher while washing another plate and found yourself wondering what it would be like if this could be your life forever. 

then just as quickly – the thought twisted into a dull ache. because deep down, you already knew. 

forever was reserved for someone else – a stranger with no face. no name. a stranger who will never hold your heart the way the boy in front of you does. eventually, the clock would run out. eventually, the world would reclaim you and someone would take him away from you. and if forever wasn’t promised, if your time together was merely a beautiful, borrowed dream – then he at least deserved to know the truth of your heart. 

❄️ IT’S CHRISTMAS AND I LOVE YOU. ❄️

mark placed away the last dish on the drying rack, the soft clink echoing through the quiet kitchen. before you could lose your courage – you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind, pressing your cheek against the warmth of his back. 

he sank into your embrace instantly, his body relaxing as if you were the only place he ever felt truly safe, hand instinctively settling over yours, squeezing gently, a tiny contented smile forming on his lips. 

and finally–

“i love you.” 

the words came from your lips, barely above a whisper. small. fragile. and completely terrifying. three little words you’ve never said out loud or to anyone before. three little words you never knew the meaning of until this very moment. 

mark didn’t move. didn’t breathe. didn’t speak. and immediately panic started creeping into your chest. maybe it was too soon. maybe you had overstepped. maybe the weight of those words was too heavy for him to carry. maybe you shouldn’t have said it. maybe–

he turned around, his eyes sparkling.

“y/n…”

your heart was beating so hard it almost hurt. 

“i know it’s too soon,” you rushed out nervously, “you don’t have to say it back right away–or ever–i just…wanted you to know and it’s christmas and everyone keeps talking about marriage and love and–”

mark cuts you off with a kiss. his warm hands cup your face, fingers sliding into your hair. this kiss felt different. it wasn’t playful or teasing or hungry. just – overwhelmingly tender. when he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his hand dropping to your waist to pull you flush against him, erasing every millimeter of space between your bodies. 

“i love you, too.”

he said it so softly, the words seeping into every crack and broken place inside you, sealing the wounds left by a lifetime of loneliness. 

“you know that, right?” he murmured, his voice thick with affection. 

you nodded immediately but your eyes were already blurring, the tears coming in hot and fast, spilling over your lashes. he notices immediately, his thumb brushing your eye gently. 

“why are you crying?” he whispered, his brow furrowing in gentle concern. 

“i’m just happy.”

his expression softens completely, looking at you like you were the most precious thing he’d ever been trusted with. he leaned down, pressing a kiss against your forehead, closing his eyes as if trying to memorize the feeling of you.

the world outside his childhood bedroom ceased to exist. the two of you are squeezed into mark’s tiny twin sized bed, facing each other, legs tangled under the blanket draped over both of you, larger than the bed itself. the quiet hum of the heater and mark’s christmas playlist drifted through the room, the singular lamp in the corner casting a warm glow.

“feel free to ignore this question…but have you ever thought about it?...marriage?” he asks softly, his fingers tracing slow circles across the small of your back. 

the real answer was no. in fact, you tried very hard not to think about it. 

“with you?” you ask, teasing softly to mask the sudden tightening in your chest. 

mark sputtered, the sudden shift in tone catching him off guard, “i mean–it doesn’t have to be with me,” he stammered, feeling nervous, “i just mean, in general…is that something that sounds appealing to you?”

“if i said no, would you break up with me?” 

“no! baby–what?” a flash of genuine panic crossed his eyes at the mere suggestion of losing you. he looked almost wounded by the question, “forget i asked.”

you couldn’t help it, a soft chuckle escaped you, the sound freeing him from his self-inflicted torment. you reached up, tracing the line of his jaw with your thumb, your expression softening. 

“i’d only want it if it’s with you,” you admit truthfully.

the confession hit him visibly. a deep, crimson blush creeping up his neck and flooding his cheeks, and for a moment, he looked like the boy you had first met in that classroom. 

“how about you?” you whispered, your voice barely audible, afraid, “can you see yourself marrying me?”

he shifted then, turning around just enough to reach for the bedside table. you furrowed your brows, confused, as he grabbed a black permanent marker. then – without a word, he took your left hand in his, his grip firm yet gentle, lifting it up and drawing a circle around your ring finger. 

your heart stopped. 

“i’ll put a real ring on this finger someday, i promise you.” 

he said it softly, watching as your gaze remained on the black ink – it was temporary, it was messy, and it was the most beautiful thing you had ever owned. 

“i like this one better,” you muttered softly. 

that earned a real laugh from him. 

“no way…i’ll buy you the prettiest ring in the world, baby, i promise,” he brought your hand up to his lips, trailing slowly, searing kisses up your knuckles, then your wrist, before his lips finally found yours. 

he lingered there, his breath warm against your mouth, “just wait a little while, okay?” he whispered, his smile shy. 

you knew exactly what he meant. he had ambitions. he had other dreams. 

you can't seem to find your words. and you didn’t want to make promises you can’t keep. 

so instead, you pulled him closer, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him with a desperate, starving intensity. you pour everything you couldn’t say into that kiss – every unspoken fear, every hidden truth and every ounce of love that felt too large for your chest to hold, hoping that if you held on tight enough, the rest of the world would simply forget you existed. 

the kiss deepened, shifting from a desperate plea into something hungrier. mark’s tongue swiped firmly against your upper lip, demanding entry and you opened for him instantly, the taste of toothpastes clashing with the heat of your shared breath. 

as the kiss grew more frantic, your hand wandered, sliding down the expanse of his chest and stomach until your palm landed on the ridge of his cock, rubbing him through the fabric of his grey sweatpants.

“markie,” you whispered against his lips, “are we still taking things slow?” you punctuated the question with a light, deliberate squeeze, feeling him twitch beneath your touch. 

mark’s eyes fluttered shut, his head falling against yours as he inhaled a shaky breath, “i really, really don’t want to anymore, baby,” he groaned.

“what’s stopping you?” 

he paused, his expression flickering with a sudden, piercing vulnerability making your hand stop. 

“can i be honest?” 

you quirked a brow, small and playful, “when are you never not honest?”

he chuckles softly, shaking his head, “i’m a virgin,” he admits shyly. 

you stared at him, momentarily stunned. given the amount of times he’s made you cum on just his mouth and fingers, you had assumed he was an expert. 

a soft giggle escaped you, the tension breaking into something tender, “that’s why you were so adamant about taking things slow,” you realized.

he chuckles too, “i just…i don’t want to ruin it for you.”

“you literally won’t be able to,” you countered, your voice softening, “i’m a virgin, too.” 

mark’s eyes snapped open, widening in sheer disbelief, your words hanging heavy in the air. the odds seemed impossible – that two people with this kind of magnetic, visceral chemistry could both be virgins. you knew exactly where to touch him, unravel him with a single look. 

“so i guess we’ll just have to figure it out together,” you add, a small smile blooming on your lips. 

he didn’t waste another second. he surged forward capturing your lips onto his again, “together,” he whispered against your lips, “everything…together.”

he kisses you deeper now, pulling you even closer before his hand starts wandering down until it slides beneath the waistband of your pajama pants, slipping under the cotton of your panties. 

you hum into the kiss, lifting your leg to curl around his hip, giving yourself up to him as his fingers start rubbing up and down your folds, teasing your leaking hole. 

mark might be a virgin. but he had no problem when it came to research. and after six months of dating, he knows exactly how to prepare you, how to touch you, how to get you wet — he sinks two digits deep into your heat, your gasp muffling against his lips, your body arching instinctively. 

you were acutely aware of the risk – his family is somewhere in the house and you’re pretty sure the justin bieber playing through his laptop right now isn’t enough to draw out your noises. 

that doesn’t stop him from quickly curling his fingers inside you in that way that makes you bury your face in his shoulder, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt, desperately trying your best to control the sounds passing your lips. 

your hips begin rutting against his hand, seeking more, “markiee–” you moan softly, biting your lip hard to stifle the sound, your body trembling on the verge of a peak. he always knew that specific, electric spot deep inside. 

you’re so close. so, so close. but you didn’t want to cum on his fingers tonight. you wanted to feel the weight of him, the stretch of him. 

“wait–stop,” you whispered, grabbing his wrist.

mark froze, his chest heaving, his eyes clouded with lust, “why? you were so close,” he points out, his voice that strained pitch it always gets when he’s pleasing you, almost as if he gets off just by the mere action of getting you off. 

“i want to feel you,” you whispered, “…d-do you have a condom?”

mark nodded quickly. he had been carrying one in his wallet since the day you started dating – just in case – a testament to his cautious, responsible nature. he reached for his wallet on the bedside table, pulling out the packet with shaking fingers. he almost can’t believe this is happening right now. 

“do you know how to put it on?” you ask softly. 

mark paused, a look of genuine uncertainty crossing his face. he let out a soft, embarrassed chuckle, “i-i actually don’t,” he admitted. “wait, let me watch a tutorial video.”

you couldn’t help but burst into a quiet giggle as he seriously reached for his phone, pulling up a youtube tutorial. this is, by far, probably the nerdiest thing he’s ever done – it’s endearing. 

the room is suddenly filled with a robotic, educational voice discussing the importance of practicing safe sex and checking expiration dates. 

“well…this is one way to kill the mood,” mark grunted, though he continued watching the screen with intense concentration. 

“keep watching, markie,” you teased, “i got you,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss under his ear. 

and before he could react, you disappeared beneath the heavy duvet, crawling between his legs. 

“wha-”

he didn’t get to finish. you swiftly pulled down his pajama pants and boxers, exposing his hard, leaking cock and without hesitation, you wrapped your lips around the tip, swirling your tongue around the head.

“fuuck–baby,” he whines, his head hitting the pillow as he peeled the blanket back to watch you fully. 

the educational video continued to drone on in the background, a surreal contrast to the sight of you sucking him. you coated him in spit, your mouth tight and warm and his mind was a chaotic mess – one hand trying it’s best to hold up his phone and keep up with the video, the other gripping the sheets to keep from cumming right then and there. 

as the video finally demonstrated how to roll the latex, mark quickly pulled you off his cock. 

“okay, okay baby–i got it,” he gasped, grabbing the packet again as you sat on your knees, still in the middle of his legs, watching him, completely amused. 

“i gotta do this…and then this,” he muttered, rolling the condom down the length of his shaft with a tiny groan, the feeling of the latex tightening around his cock entirely new. 

then he looked at you, his eyes dark and searching, “how should we do it?”

you didn’t answer with words, simply pulling off your pajama pants and underwear, leaving you wearing nothing but his oversized university sweater, which swallowed your frame. you crawled back up to him, capturing his lips in a searing kiss as you positioned yourself, caging him in with your thighs. 

slowly, you began to rub your soaking wet pussy against his condom-covered cock. you had dry-humped plenty of times before — this position was somewhat familiar but the feeling was entirely different. with only the thin latex between you, everything seem magnified. you could feel the throb of his pulse, the heat of his skin, the sheer size of him pressing against your opening, teasing. 

god, it felt good. 

the friction was driving you both insane. the way his cock hits your clit with every glide earning a silent moan from you while mark’s breath was coming in jagged hitches, his hands gripping your waist with a strength that bordered on desperate, yet he remained still, letting you set the pace. 

you pulled back from the kiss just an inch, your foreheads resting against each other, your voice a trembling whisper–

“mark…please. put it in. i want you inside me.”

mark swallowed hard, his adam’s apple bobbing as he looks up at you with raw vulnerability, mixing with an intense hunger. he didn’t just want to take you, he wanted to make sure this was perfect. 

“are you sure?” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly, “i don’t want to hurt you. i–i don’t know exactly how much…if it i’ll be too much.”

“i’m sure,” you whimpered, shifting your weight, “please.”

slowly, with caution, mark grabbed the base of his cock, you guided him, aligning him to your soaking wet entrance. as the head of his cock first touched your opening, you let out a sharp, shallow gasp. it was already so much more than his fingers. 

“you okay?” he asked immediately, his voice strained as he fought the urge to just thrust upward, his fingers digging into your hips to anchor you. 

“yes..yes, let’s keep going.”

you lowered yourself inch by inch. as his cock started to slide into your tight heat, you felt a sudden, sharp pressure. it was a fullness you had never experienced, a feeling of being completely occupied. you froze, your breath catching in your throat, your muscles instinctively tightening around him. 

“wait, wait,” mark whispered, his eyes fillled with concern as he takes in every bit of your reaction, “does it hurt? tell me if hurts, baby. i’ll stop. just tell me.”

you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath, doing your best to relax. the initial sting was fading, replaced by an overwhelming sense of warmth and a deep, aching want of more. you felt the stretch but it felt right. 

“i’m okay,” you whispered, “it just…it’s a lot. but it feels good. i want more.”

reassured, mark let out a nod as you sunk further down, feeling the way his cock expands inside you. 

“god, you’re so tight,” mark groaned, his head falling back against the pillow, eyes fluttering shut, face contorting in a mix of pleasure and disbelief, “baby…you feel…incredible.”

as you finally bottomed out, feeling the base of his cock press firmly against your pussy, you let out a long, shaky sigh and collapsed onto his chest. the two of you stayed like that for a moment, chests heaving in unison, the only sound the distant beat of the music from his laptop and the frantic drumming of two hearts beating as one. 

“are you okay?” mark whispered again, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you tight against him. 

he kissed your temple, his lips lingering there, “i’m…i’m actually inside you,” he laughs. 

you let out a soft, shaky laugh, “i’m perfect. you’re perfect.” 

you stayed draped across his chest for a few more minutes, getting used to him before slowly shifting, pushing yourself up on your palms to look down at him. mark’s eyes were dark and dilated, completely focused on you. 

“i want to move,” you whispered, your voice thick with desire. 

“me too,” he groaned, his hands sliding from your waist down to your ass, lightly squeezing the soft flesh, “just…do what makes you feel good, baby.”

you experimentally lift your hips, sliding up the length of his cock, the friction against your sensitive walls sending a wave of pleasure through you. you let out a soft gasp, your eyes fluttering shut. then you sank back down, letting him stretch you again. you continue this over and over, finding the rhythm of your pleasure. 

mark let out a low, guttural sound in the back of his throat, his hips instinctively twitching upward to meet you. he was fighting for control over his own body. he didn’t want this to end quickly, wanting to savor every single second of your first time together. 

“t-that feels s-so good, baby,” he groaned, reaching up to pull you down into an open-mouthed kiss, your tongue tasting of desperation and love, the kiss mirroring the slow, grinding pace of your hips. 

as you found a rhythm together – mark’s hand wanders, sliding his fingers beneath you and rubbing slow, deliberate circles on your clit, his thumb applying just the right amount of pressure. 

the combination was too much. the pleasure spiked, an electric current that snapped through your entire body. you arched your back, head tossing back as a loud, unrestrained moan ripped from your throat, echoing through the small bedroom. 

both of you froze instantly. 

you stopped mid-ride, your breath hitching, your heart pounding so loud. mark’s hand stayed frozen on your pussy, his eyes wide as he looked up at you. the silence that followed was deafening, making the distant music from the laptop sound like a roar. 

you leaned down, your voice a frantic, hushed whisper, “fuck…mark, do you think your parents heard that?”

mark stared at you for a beat then a slow, wicked smirk spread across his lips, the one you only see when the restraint he practices snaps. he gripped your hips firmly, pulling you down hard against him. 

“i honestly don’t care,” he rasped, his voice dropping an octave, sounding raw and hungry, “that was so hot.”

you leaned down and nipped at his lower lip, a playful smirk on your lips, “you’re such a dirty boy.”

“only for you,” he teases back, rolling his eyes playfully and earning a chuckle from you. 

you giggled, “can you actually get on top? my knees are starting to hurt.”

mark didn’t need to be told twice. as he pulled out to reposition, you let out a small, disappointed whimper, at the feeling of emptiness. you scrambled together, limbs tangling in the sheets, until you were flat on your back and he was hovering over you.

“ready, baby?” 

you nod in response. 

the moment he slid back in in one deep thrust, both of you let out a simultaneous sigh of pure relief. riding him had been fun but being pinned beneath him felt different – more surrender, more intimate. you could focus entirely on the feeling of him as you sank into the mattress, your legs instinctively wrapping tightly around him. 

mark moves with a steady rhythm, no longer holding back as much, the raw hunger in his eyes evident every time he looked down at you. as he drove deeper — his cock angled upward, hitting a specific, sensitive spot deep inside you. 

your eyes rolled back into your head, fingers digging into his back, “oh god…right there…markie, right there,” you managed to whisper, your voice shaking. 

he heard you loud and clear though, the sound of his name in that tone driving him crazy. he focused his movements, hitting that exact spot again and again. and with every stroke, your walls clamped down on him even tighter, squeezing his cock in pulses. 

mark let out a choked sound, his jaw locking. he felt like he was losing his fucking mind. he was so close – so dangerously close – but he refused to finish without you. 

“please come for me, baby—please,” he rasped, his voice sounding like gravel. 

“just…don’t stop–,” you whisper in a moan. 

he reached down between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit once more, rubbing it with a frantic, expert intensity. that was your undoing. he leaned down and captured your lips in a desperate kiss, swallowing your moans into his own mouth. 

you felt the tension snap as you peaked, your entire body shaking under the force of the orgasm, eyes shutting close, jaw slacked in a silent moan, as your toes curl, the heat traveling through you. 

mark couldn’t hold on any longer. the feeling of you cumming around him was his final trigger. 

“fuck, i cant–,” he whined against your cheek, his body stiffening. he gave one last, deep thrust, as he buried his face on the crook of your shoulders, spilling moans only reserved for your ears as he filled up the condom. he collapsed onto you, his heartbeat matching yours, both of you trying to catch your breath.

slowly, he lifted his head, pressing a lingering, tender kiss to your forehead, then your nose, and finally your lips.

“i love you,” he whispered, his voice still raspy and broken from the intensity of the moment, “god, i love you so much.”

you reached up, framing his face with your hands, “i love you too, mark. so much.”

he let out a contented sigh, nuzzling into your neck one last time before he slowly pulled out of you. as he moved back slightly, he paused, his gaze dropping to where you were open and glistening. the sight of your swollen pussy inviting him. without a word, mark leaned back down, licking from your opening up to your clit. 

you let out a sharp, sharky breath, your hips twitching instinctively, “mmm…markie…”

he hummed against your folds, tongue swirling around your clit, attempting to clean you up. but the pleasure was almost too much. your nerves were raw, every touch feeling too overwhelming. 

“stop—,” you breathed, gently pushing at his shoulders, “stop, mark…it’s too much.”

“sorry,” he smiles sheepishly, “you just taste so good, baby.”

the words make you blush but you disguise it with a playful roll of your eyes.  he kisses your inner thigh then before sitting back on his heels, looking down at his own cock which was still semi-hard and protected, the condom now filled with the evidence of his release. 

a look of genuine confusion crossed his face. he looked at the condom, then at you, then back at the condom. 

“wait,” he muttered, his brow furrowing, “how do i actually take this off without…you know, making a mess everywhere?”

you burst into a fit of giggles, the tension fully breaking as you grab his phone from the bedside table, unlocking it and clicking on the youtube app once again. mark lets out a chuckle as he lays beside you, watching you with adoration as you begin scrolling for another tutorial video. 

on christmas morning, you woke up before him, thighs still feeling a bit sore. mark was still out cold by your side, his mouth parted slightly, his breathing slow and his hair a chaotic, beautiful mess against the pillow. he looked so cute. you lingered there for a moment, staring at him with a swelling warmth in your chest, taking a mental screenshot of this version of him. 

but then the sound of the piano, a familiar melodic tune, drifted through the hallway. you quietly slip out of his bed, careful not to wake him. you make yourself presentable enough as you slip out of his room in your pajamas and mark’s oversized sweater still clinging to your body. 

as you stepped into the living room, the music became clearer, filling the space with a warmth that matched the holiday decorations. mark’s mom was seated at the piano, her posture elegant, her fingers dancing across the keys with effortless grace. you stopped in the doorway, momentarily breathless, simply admiring the way she seemed to merge with the music. 

the moment she noticed you, her entire face lit up, “oh! good morning sweetheart,” she beamed, her fingers never missing a beat. 

“good morning, mrs. lee…that sounds really beautiful,” you praise her. 

“come–come sit,” she urged, gesturing toward the space beside her. 

you obeyed, sliding into the space next to her. she paused for a heartbeat, looking at you with a flicker of curiosity and excitement,  “do you know how to play?” 

of course you knew how to play. piano lessons were a must in your world. a sign of properness and wealth. but beyond the expectations of your father, you had genuinely fallen in love with the instrument. you loved the way a single chord could express a grief or a joy that words were too clumsy to handle. 

you nod softly, “yes…i can play.”

“oh! that’s wonderful! join me then,” she says, her excitement increasing tenfold. 

you let out a small, shy chuckle before your fingers found the higher register of the keys, tentatively entering her melody. you followed her lead, your notes weaving around hers, creating a rich harmony that filled the room. 

at one point, in a moment of playful improvisation, the two of you hit two notes that just sounded horrible together. the sound was jarring and terribly off-key, clashing against the melody. the silence that followed lasted only a second before you both burst into delighted laughter, the sound echoing through the house, warm and unfiltered. 

unbeknownst to you, mark was standing in the shadows of the hallway. he had woken up to the sound of music and had followed it, stopping just short of the living room. he leaned against the doorframe, watching. he can’t help the tender smile spreading across his lips as he looked at you – in his sweater, laughing with his mother, your fingers on the keys – and felt a surge of love so strong it nearly knocked the wind out of him. 

there were so many things he still didn’t know about you. so many hidden layers, secret talents, and quiet fears he had yet to uncover. but as he watched you, he felt a profound sense of peace. after the promises whispered last night, he knew he didn’t have to rush. he was grateful that he now had forever to learn everything there was to know about you. 

SHANGHAI, CHINA: PRESENT TIME

💎 THE FATHER. 💎

“the boss will see you shortly, please follow me,” winter’s voice was quiet and professional as she led the zhong team deeper into the mansion. mr. zhong walked beside her, unimpressed. meanwhile, karina couldn’t stop looking around, her expression a mix of awe and curiosity. 

mark couldn’t blame her. the place was absurd in its scale and its extravagance. every room they passed looked like something straight out of an architectural magazine. floor to ceiling windows overlooked the gardens, paintings that probably cost more than entire houses hung from the walls, and the polished marble beneath their feet reflected the chandeliers above them. 

it was beautiful. and mark fucking hated it – he hated the cold, pale blue of the walls. the endless hallways that felt designed to keep people apart. the silence, a heavy suffocating void. 

as they walked, a sickening realiztion settled in his gut – this was your world. the loneliness he felt just walking through these halls was likely the only constant companion you had ever known. 

after passing several more hallways, winter finally stopped before a pair of open double doors. immediately, mark’s gaze locked onto the man standing guard beside the entrance. his heart skipped. it was him. the same man from seoul. the one you had claimed was “just asking for directions.” their eyes met and a flash of mutual recognition sparked between them. the security guard din’t look away. instead, his expression softened into something that looked painfully like pity, almost sad, as if he knew a secret that was about to break mark’s world apart. 

but before mark can dwell on it, a voice shattered the silence – a voice that sounded like a scream from the depths of a drowning soul. 

“I STILL HAVE TWO MONTHS!”

the entire hallway froze. 

“THAT WAS OUR DEAL! WHY ARE YOU MOVING THE WEDDING TO NEXT WEEK?!” 

karina’s eyes widened, her head snapping toward her best friend. mark felt his stomach drop. 

“please wait a while,” winter intervened quickly, pointing to the velvet chairs lined against the wall. mr. zhong, ever the stoic, sat down without a word, his face a mask of indifference as he motioned for mark and karina to do the same. none of them spoke. 

inside the office, a man’s voice answered. not loud. not angry. not screaming. he didn’t need to. his voice was deep, controlled, and resonated with a terrifying level of absolute authority. a voice of a man who didn’t ask for things – he dictated them. he was power itself. 

“y/n. i refuse to continue discussing this.”

mark had never met your father, but in that single sentence, he understood exactly who the man was. it was chilling how calm he sounded. like the two of you were just having another business disagreement and not discussing your entire life. 

“I’M NOT MARRYING HIM!” you yelled. the sound raw. the sound of someone who had run out of options, out of breath, and out of hope. mark has never heard you sound like that before. 

and then, your father laughed, dry and humorless that sent a shiver down mark’s spine.

“and what?” he asked, his tone dripping with a cruel, mocking curiosity, “you’re going to keep waiting around for that boy you swear loves you?”

mark’s breath hitched, very aware the he was that boy.

“i gave you more than enough time,” your father continued, his voice sounding bored, almost exhausted by your resistance, “it has been reported to me that you already proposed to him.”

mark can’t breathe. his lungs seized and he felt the world tilt on its axis.

“and he turned you down,” he snickered, like being right makes him happy. 

every word felt like a knife to mark’s chest. 

“–so stop playing these games y/n,” his voice hardened, the boredom replaced by a sharp, cutting edge,  “it’s embarrassing for my reputation.”

and that was your ugly truth wasn’t it? 

that this whole time – you waited. you had been in a state of suspended time, waiting for mark to reach his dreams, for him to become a man your father couldn’t dismiss. waited for a version of him that could stand beside you without being crushed by the weight of your family’s empire. 

for five whole years, your world had stopped. you had lived in a frozen moment of hope, clinging to the memory of a christmas day, believing that the purity of that love was a tether strong enough to pull you back to him when the time came. you had played a dangerous game of patience, enduring the suffocating grip of your father, all while believing that if mark just reached his dreams, he would be the one to rescue you. 

you had simply failed to factor in the most devastating variable – that he would no longer want to stand by you. and how could he? in his eyes, you weren’t a prisoner. you were the one who left him. 

“i don’t love dejun” your voice came again, smaller this time, fragile and utterly broken. 

“you don’t need to.” the answer came instantly and something dark flashed across mark’s expression. 

“love isn’t necessary.”

your father sounded almost annoyed now, as if your desire for affection was a tedious error he had to correct.

“so because you’re miserable…” your voice cracked, “i have to be miserable, too?”

mark sat frozen in his chair, his knuckles white. the picture is so clear to him now – the bruise he’d noticed. the hollow loneliness in your eyes. the sudden, desperate proposal you had sent him, the way you whispered his name in the conference room, not as a command, but as a prayer. 

“not everyone gets to have what they want,” your father replied, his tone flat. 

then–very quietly–so soft that everyone outside almost missed it, you said–

“you did. you married who you loved.”

the silence that followed was predatory. slowly, your father rose from his chair, “you know nothing.”

“everyone tells me mother loved you,” you whispered, the bravery of the desperation taking over. 

“enough.”

“and i know you wanted to choose her over me.”

“enough.”

and i know–”

“ENOUGH!”

the roar shook the very foundations of the mansion, followed immediately by a sharp, sickening slap! – the sound of his palm connecting with your cheek, ringing throughout the office and echoing into the hallway. you didn’t scream. you didn’t even gasp. you barely reacted at all, a chilling testament to how accustomed you had become to the violence. 

but outside the doors, mark’s entire body stiffened, his pulse pounding violently in his ears, the sudden urge to walk-in coursing through him. but before he could move a muscle, a hand landed firmly on his shoulder. 

“sit down.”

mark looked at mr. zhong in utter disbelief. the younger man’s expression was tight, his eyes clouded with a weary, distant soundness. his voice a low, commanding warning.

“don’t get in the way of family matters.”

“but–”

“it isn’t our place.”

the words felt like a slap to mark’s own face. who was he in this world? in this fortress of power and blood, he was nothing. he was a researcher, an employee, a ghost. he had zero leverage over the monster in that room. 

he looked around, his gaze frantic. he saw the security guard who hadn’t moved an inch. what kind of security guard doesn’t protect? he looked at the maids who continued their tasks with robotic precision, their faces blank. no surprise. no shock. no horror. like it was just another day. he looked at winter, who was staring intently at the wall, her jaw clenched, pretending nothing happened. 

mark felt sick. 

how often does this happen? how often have you cried behind closed doors? how many bruises had gone unnoticed because nobody dared to notice them? how many times have you walked out smiling afterward, pretending along with everyone else?

all this time, he had convinced himself you had turned into ice. he thought you were cold, manipulative — a woman who had traded her heart for a corporate throne. he thought you had become someone he didn’t recognize. he realized now, with a crushing weight in his chest, that you hadn’t changed. you had just learned how to survive. 

then — you walked out of the office.

mark’s gaze is stuck on you as you stopped for a fraction of a second, your eyes rimmed with a raw, painful red. your lower lip split slightly, a small bead of crimson blooming against your skin. it wasn’t enough to alarm a stranger – but more than enough for him. enough for the man who memorized every curve of your face. enough for the man who couldn’t stop seeing you in every dream. enough for the man who still loves you. 

you froze when you saw him, not expecting an audience to your shame.

for a second, your expression crumbled. and mark saw her – the girl from seoul. the girl who taught him the meaning of love. the girl who gave him the entire world. 

then, just as quickly, you forced back the mask – cold. untouchable. professional. you looked right through him, your eyes turning into shards of glass, and you said nothing, simply walking away, the click of your heels on the marble sounding like a countdown. 

mark remained standing there, paralyzed. for the first time since seeing you again, the anger, the confusion and the hurt were gone. in their place was a hot, blinding fury. not at you. but at the silence of the hallway, the maids, the guard – the man behind the double doors who thought power gave him the right to destroy. 

and most of all, he was furious at himself. 

you had been drowning in plain sight. you had reached out your hand in the only way you knew how. and for someone who prided himself on his brilliance, mark realized he had been the blindest man in the room. 

PART TWO.

an: oof 🫪🫪 well that was an emotional roller coaster...but have no fear! we're not done yet! next part will heal you, i promise. just wait a little while, okay? also i hope the different timelines aren’t too confusing! let me know what you think of this part! thank you for reading :3

💍 likes, reblogs, and comments are not required but is very appreciated

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warnings : heavy angst with a hopeful/comfort ending, themes of religious trauma, spiritual deconstruction/doubt, detailed descriptions of a panic attack, discussion/mention of past non-consensual photography (voyeurism by family/family partner), breach of privacy, family betrayal, emotional abuse (no explicit descriptions of the abuse itself, focus is entirely on the emotional aftermath and healing).

a/n : hi angels. just a little heads up before you dive in... this piece is incredibly close to my heart because this is also another story of mine that is based on real events, so it deals with a very personal & specific trauma. it's actually been sitting in my drafts for quite some time now. it was just so hard for me to write that i couldn't finish it on my own, but I'm truly so grateful that my friend motivated me to finally finish it and helped me through the whole process.

because of the heavy themes, it includes sensitive topics that might be triggering or traumatizing to some of you. please protect your peace, look after yourselves & read at your own risk/discretion, angels. I highly suggest listening to sun bleached flies by ethel cain while reading it. love yall sm & always :)

The heavy wooden doors of the church always felt like a barrier, not an entrance. Outside, the Sunday sun beat down on the concrete pavement. Inside, the air smelled faintly of aged paper, floor wax, and the clean, linen scent of Mark’s ironed collar.

Mark stood a few paces ahead in the foyer, his posture naturally upright, hands neatly tucked into the pockets of his slacks. He was speaking with an elderly deacon, nodding with that genuine, wide-eyed attention that made everyone in the congregation adore him. Mark didn't just practice his faith; he lived it with a quiet, unshakeable warmth. He saw the world as a canvas of grace.

You stood near the bulletin board, your fingers tightly interlaced around the strap of your purse. Your fingernails dug into the leather until your tips turned white. You used to fit here. A lifetime ago, before the world fractured, you knew exactly when to sit, when to stand, and how to harmonize during the doxology.

Now, the music sounded like static. The prayers felt like oxygen being sucked from the room.

Mark excused himself from the deacon, his expression softening the moment his eyes landed on you. He walked over, his sneakers making no sound on the carpeted floor. He reached out, his warm palm gently cupping your elbow. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice low enough to stay between the two of you. “You okay? We can leave if it’s getting too loud.”

“I'm fine,” you lied, forcing a small smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “Just thinking.”

Mark didn't push. He never pushed. He knew the broad strokes of the shadow that followed you, though the full weight of it was something you only let out in fractured whispers during the darkest hours of the night. He knew that church wasn't sanctuary for you anymore. It was a crime scene.

—

The drive to his parents' house was forty minutes of heavy, suffocating silence, broken only by the low hum of the car’s engine and the soft jazz playing from the dashboard. Mark kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting face-up on the center console, an open invitation. You stared out the passenger window, watching the suburban landscape blur into a smear of green and gray.

Your mind, as it often did when you were cornered by silence, drifted back to the afternoon everything changed. It wasn’t a dramatic explosion. It was the soft click of a folder opening on your older sister’s phone. You had been looking for a recipe she promised to text you. Instead, you found a digital graveyard of your own privacy.

Dozens of photos. Angles from the high corner of the bathroom window. Angles from the gap in the closet door. You in the shower, completely vulnerable, completely unaware. And worse than the images themselves were the timestamps, matching the weekends her boyfriend had stayed over. Worst of all was the text thread directly beneath the folder, where your sister had sent the files with captions that made your stomach turn to ash.

You never said a word. You closed the phone. You put it back on the kitchen counter. You walked to your room, locked the door, and waited for God to strike them down, or to comfort you, or to give you a sign that you weren't entirely alone in the dark.

Nothing happened. The sun rose the next morning. Your sister made breakfast. Her boyfriend smiled at you across the table. The silence from heaven was absolute, loud enough to crack your foundations. If God was a father, he was the kind who watched his children get torn apart and chose to look the other way.

“We’re almost there,” Mark’s voice broke through the haze. You blinked, the suburban houses suddenly looking much closer, much grander. Mark’s family home was a beautiful, two-story brick house with a manicured lawn and a small, wooden cross hanging neatly beside the front door.

“My mom made that pot roast you liked last time,” Mark said, turning into the driveway. He looked over at you, his eyes searching your face. “Hey. Look at me.”

You turned your head. Mark’s expression was a mix of profound affection and deep concern. “You don't have to pretend,” he said softly. “My family loves you because I love you. You don't need to say the grace. You don't need to talk about theology. Just be you.”

“They’re going to ask, Mark,” you whispered, your throat tight. “They always ask what parish I’m attending now. They ask what my favorite verses are. Your dad is a minister.”

“And I'm his son, and I told him you’re going through a season of rest,” Mark said, his fingers finally reaching over to squeeze your hand. His skin was warm, a stark contrast to your freezing fingers. “I’ve got your back. Always.”

—

The dinner table was loud, filled with the clinking of silverware and the bright, overlapping chatter of Mark’s parents and his brother. The food was excellent, but every bite tasted like cardboard in your mouth.

“So, dear,” Mark’s mother said, leaning forward with a warm, maternal smile. “Mark tells us you’ve been doing some soul-searching lately. It’s so important for young women to find their own anchor in the Word, especially with how chaotic the world is right now.”

Your fork scraped loudly against the porcelain plate. The room seemed to drop five degrees. “Yes,” you managed to say, your voice sounding thin and distant to your own ears. “It’s... been a process.”

“It’s a beautiful process,” Mark’s father chimed in, his deep voice carrying the natural resonance of a man used to speaking from a pulpit. “The Lord welcomes the wrestling. Look at Jacob. Look at Job. Doubt isn’t the enemy of faith; it’s the crucible. But we must always remember that even when we feel abandoned, His eyes are on the sparrow. He protects His flock from the wolves.”

He protects His flock.

The phrase repeated in your head, turning into a screeching roar. The image of your sister’s phone screen flashed behind your eyelids—the bright blue light of the digital folder, the sound of water running in the shower, the feeling of invisible eyes watching you wash your hair. Where was the protector then? Was the bathroom door outside His jurisdiction?

“I think,” you started, but your breath caught in your throat.

“Actually, Dad,” Mark cut in quickly, noticing the way your posture had gone completely rigid. “She’s been working really long hours at the clinic. Let’s not turn dinner into a seminary lecture, yeah?” He laughed, trying to lighten the mood, but his eyes remained fixed on you, full of sharp worry.

“Of course, of course,” his father smiled, nodding. “We just care. The enemy loves to isolate us when we're tired.”

The enemy.

The room began to spin. The walls, decorated with framed Bible verses in elegant calligraphy, seemed to lean inward. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. Fear not, for I am with you.”—The words felt like a mockery, a grand joke you weren’t in on.

Your chest tightened, a vice gripping your ribs until you couldn't expand your lungs. Your heart began to hammer against your breastbone like a trapped bird.

“Excuse me,” you whispered.

You didn’t wait for a response. You pushed your chair back—the legs scraping harshly against the hardwood floor—and stood up. The room tilted. You walked toward the hallway, your vision blurring at the edges, turning into a dark, vignetted tunnel.

You found the downstairs bathroom by memory, stumbling inside and clicking the lock shut. The sound of the lock sliding into place—the very sound that was supposed to mean safety, but never did—triggered it completely. You slid down the back of the wooden door, your knees hitting the bathmat.

You couldn't breathe. Air was entering your mouth, but it wasn't reaching your lungs. Your hands began to shake uncontrollably, pins and needles radiating up your arms. The image of the phone, the feeling of being violated in your own home, the suffocating guilt of keeping the secret to protect a family dynamic that was already dead—it all came rushing up like bile.

“Please,” you gasped into the empty room, your forehead pressing against your knees. You didn’t know who you were asking. God, the universe, anyone. “Please, make it stop.”

A soft, hesitant knock sounded against the door.

“Hey,” Mark’s voice came through the wood, muffled but steady. “It’s just me. It’s Mark. Can I come in?”

You tried to answer, but only a broken, choked sob escaped your lips.

A moment later, the lock clicked from the outside—Mark always knew where the emergency key was kept in his parents' house. The door opened slowly, just enough for him to slip his lean frame through the gap before he closed it behind him.

He didn’t stand over you. He immediately dropped to his knees on the floor, disregarding his nice slacks, and pulled his legs in so he was sitting directly opposite you in the cramped space.

“Look at me, sweetheart,” he said, his voice incredibly calm, though his eyes were wide with a fierce, protective focus. “Don’t look at the floor. Look at my eyes.”

You forced your gaze up. His face was right there, familiar and safe.

“Match my breathing,” he commanded gently, taking a deep, exaggerated breath through his nose and letting it out slowly through his mouth. “In for four. Come on. With me.”

You tried, but your ribs felt locked. You shook your head, tears finally spilling over your eyelashes, hot and fast down your cheeks. “I can’t. Mark, I can’t breathe.”

“You can. I'm right here,” he said. He reached out, carefully placing one of his hands over your heart, feeling the frantic, terrifying rhythm. He took your trembling right hand and pressed it flat against his own chest.

“Feel that? That’s my heart. It’s steady. Borrow my rhythm.” He kept breathing loudly, deeply, holding your gaze with an intensity that anchored you to the present moment. Slowly, the walls stopped spinning. The air began to settle in your chest, thin at first, then deeper.

“There you go,” he whispered, his thumb wiping a tear from your cheek. “You’re doing it. You’re safe. You’re in a bathroom in Toronto, it’s 2026, and I’m right here with you. Nothing can touch you here.”

You leaned forward, your forehead dropping against his shoulder. He immediately wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest, burying his face in your hair. He rocked you slightly, a tiny, repetitive movement that gradually quieted the screaming in your nerves.

“I hate it,” you choked out, your voice raw. “I hate the words. I hate the verses. They feel like a lie. They feel like a trap.”

Mark held you tighter. He didn't defend his faith. He didn’t quote a scripture to correct your perspective. He didn’t tell you that you were sinning by feeling this way.

“I know,” he murmured into your hair. “I know, baby. You don’t have to love them. You don’t have to listen to them.”

“Your parents...”

“Are going to understand that you felt sick and we had to leave,” Mark said firmly. “I’m already calling an Uber. We're going home. Our home.”

He stayed on the floor with you for another ten minutes, until the shaking stopped completely and your hands were warm again. When you finally stood up, he held your waist, ensuring your balance was steady before he opened the door. He walked you straight out the side entrance of the house to the driveway, never letting go of your hand, shielding you from any more questions.

—

Later that night, the apartment was completely quiet. The city lights filtered through the sheer curtains of the bedroom, casting long, blue-gray shadows across the bed.

You were sitting up against the headboard, wrapped in one of Mark’s oversized hoodies. The scent of him—cedarwood and detergent—was the only thing keeping the edges of the panic at bay.

Mark walked into the room carrying two mugs of chamomile tea. He set them on the nightstand, climbed into the bed beside you, and pulled the duvet over both of your laps. He reached out, pulling you into his side until your head was resting on his chest, right over his heartbeat.

“Mark?” you whispered, staring at the ceiling.

“Yeah?”

“How do you do it?” You turned your head slightly to look at his profile.

“How do you look at me, knowing how I feel about everything you believe in? Doesn’t it make you angry? Doesn’t it make you feel like I’m... broken?”

Mark was quiet for a long moment. His fingers ran through your hair, a slow, methodical stroke from your crown to your shoulders.

“When I look at you,” Mark said, his voice cracking slightly with an emotion he usually kept hidden,

“I don’t see someone who’s broken. I see someone who was broken into. Someone took something from you that wasn’t theirs to take. Your trust, your safety, your peace.”

He shifted, turning his body so he was looking down at you, his eyes incredibly serious in the dim light. “My faith isn’t a club to beat people with,” he said softly. “If my religion tells me to judge you because you’re hurting from an evil act done to you, then I’m reading the book wrong. Jesus wept when people were hurting. He didn’t hand them a tract and tell them to get over it.”

A tear slipped from your eye, soaking into the cotton of his shirt.

“I don’t think I can ever go back,” you admitted, the truth finally coming out without the fear of losing him. “I don’t think I can ever sit in a pew and feel like someone is watching out for me up there.”

Mark leaned down, pressing his lips gently to your forehead, holding the kiss there for a long, quiet second. “Then don’t," he whispered against your skin. “You don’t have to look up there for someone to watch out for you. I’m right here on the ground. Let me do it.”

You closed your eyes, listening to the steady, unbothered rhythm of his heart beneath your cheek. For the first time in years, the silence didn't feel like abandonment. It felt like room to breathe.

The weeks following that disastrous dinner passed in a heavy blur, but Mark became your anchor. He didn't ask you to be strong, nor did he ask you to pray. Instead, he sought out spaces where your mind could finally quiet down.

The autumn wind in Toronto carried a sharp, crisp edge, rustling the dry leaves across the pavement as you walked hand-in-hand with him toward the local botanical conservatory.

The moment you pushed through the heavy glass doors, the warmth of the greenhouse hit you instantly. The air inside was thick, humid, and smelled deeply of damp earth, rich moss, and blooming jasmine. It was a massive glass dome, filled with towering ferns and vibrant tropical flowers, completely isolated from the noise of the city outside. There were no wooden pews here. There were no altars, no guilt, and no expectations. There was only life, growing quietly in the dirt.

“Look at this one,” Mark whispered, pointing to a large, velvety green leaf of a prayer plant tucked near the edge of the stone pathway. “They fold their leaves up at night, like they’re resting, and then they open back up when the sun comes out. No matter how dark it gets, they just... wait for the light.”

You looked at the plant, then up at Mark. The filtered sunlight caught the soft edges of his jawline, his dark hair slightly messy from the wind.

“Do you think they get tired of waiting?” you asked, your voice barely above a murmur.

Mark shifted his gaze to you, his eyes incredibly soft. He reached up, his thumb gently tracing the line of your cheekbone. “Maybe. But they don’t have to try hard to grow. They just exist, and the earth takes care of them. That’s what we’re doing here. You don’t have to try, love. Just exist.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder, inhaling the clean scent of his jacket mixed with the earthy humidity of the greenhouse. For an hour, you walked the stone paths in complete silence, letting the green canopy shield you from the rest of the world. Here, the silence didn't feel like a heavy, judgmental void. It felt like room to breathe.

The next evening, the quiet sanctuary of your apartment was filled with a different kind of warmth. The rain against the glass grew heavier, turning the city lights into long, weeping streaks of amber and blue. Inside, the coffee table was cluttered with empty takeout containers, used tissues, and half-empty mugs of tea.

On the couch, you were flanked by your two closest friends, Maya and Jin. Mark was in the kitchen, quietly brewing another pot of tea, giving you the space he knew you needed with the only people who truly knew the depth of your history.

Maya was holding your hand, her thumb rubbing circles over your knuckles, while Jin sat on the floor, leaning his back against your knees. They were the ones who had held you the night you found the files on your sister's phone. They were the ones who had helped you scrub the invisible dirt off your skin when you felt like you could never be clean again.

“I talked to my therapist about the holiday family dinners,” Maya said softly, breaking the quiet hum of the room. “She said it’s completely okay to set a hard boundary. You don’t owe your sister an audience. You don’t owe her boyfriend your presence. Keeping the secret to protect your parents' peace is a burden you didn’t ask to carry, but choosing not to see them is how you protect your peace.”

“it just feels like I’m the one who ran away,” you whispered, staring down at your lap.

“They get to act like everything is perfect. They go to church together. They have Sunday lunches. And I’m the one hiding in the dark, doubting everything I ever believed.”

Jin leaned his head back against your knee, looking up at you with fierce, protective eyes. “You aren’t hiding, look at where you are. You’re surviving an environment that was toxic to you. They didn’t protect you. The institution didn’t protect you. You walked away because the house was on fire, and you had every right to save yourself.”

From the kitchen threshold, Mark stood silently, holding a tray with fresh mugs. He had heard every word. He didn’t flinch, and he didn’t try to defend the religious structure your family used as a shield. He walked over, carefully setting the tray down, and dropped to his knees next to Jin, his eyes completely locked onto yours.

“They’re right, you know,” Mark said, his voice deep and steady. “A family that builds its peace on your silence isn’t a holy thing. It’s just a cover-up. You didn’t run away from truth. You ran away from cruelty. You’re the strongest person I know.”

Maya looked at Mark, a soft, appreciative smile touching her lips at how fiercely he guarded you, even against the traditions he’d known his whole life. A tear finally slipped down your nose—not from the familiar sting of panic, but from the quiet, overwhelming relief of finally being seen. It felt like the very first breath of a long, slow exhale.

—

Later that night, after Maya and Jin had fallen asleep tangled in blankets on the living room floor, you were curled up on the window seat, wrapped in Mark’s favorite oversized knit sweater.

Mark climbed up onto the wide ledge with you, pulling your legs across his lap. He reached out to the kitchen counter and brought over a small, heavy terracotta pot, setting it between you. Nestled in the dark, rich soil was a small, vibrant cutting of the same velvet-leafed prayer plant you had admired at the conservatory.

“The lady at the greenhouse said this one grew from a cutting of the big one we saw,” Mark said, a gentle, earnest smile touching his lips. “She told me that even when a plant goes through a shock—when it gets cut away from everything it used to know—it doesn’t die. It just spends a little time growing new roots in a safer place. I wanted you to have it. It’s yours. No church, no rules, no family pressure. Just a quiet thing that gets to grow at its own pace. Right here with me.”

Your chest tightened, but for the first time, it wasn’t the suffocating grip of panic. It was a swell of profound safety. You reached out, your fingers brushing the soft, velvety texture of the leaf. “Thank you, Mark,” you whispered. “It’s perfect.”

He tucked your head back under his chin, his hands folding over yours. “You don’t have to carry the weight of the sky anymore, love,” he whispered into the quiet room.

“If you can’t look up and see a father, then look across the room and see me. If you can’t find peace in a prayer, find it right here in my arms. I’m not going anywhere. I am right here on the ground with you, for as long as it takes.”

Two days later, Mark sat at the small wooden dining table in his parents' house. The dinner plates had been cleared, and his mother was folding napkins in the kitchen, but his father remained at the head of the table, an open Bible resting beside his glasses. The air between the two men was thick with an unsaid tension that had been building since you ran out of the house the week before.

“Mark,” his father began, his tone carrying the familiar, heavy weight of pastoral authority. “We’ve been praying for her. But you must understand my concern as your father, and as a minister. A relationship cannot thrive when unequally yoked. She is carrying a deep bitterness against the church, and against God. If she closes her heart to the Lord, she closes her heart to the truth that guides your life.”

Mark sat perfectly still. His hands were flat on the table, his knuckles slightly white, but his expression was entirely calm—the quiet before a storm.

“Dad,” Mark said, his voice low, lacking the usual deferential warmth he always gave his parents. “She isn’t bitter. She’s injured.”

His father sighed, leaning back. “We all experience trials, son. Job lost everything, yet he blessed the name of the Lord. We cannot allow our trauma to justify turning our backs on grace.”

“Do you know what happened to her?” Mark asked, his voice dropping an octave, cold and razor-sharp.

His father blinked, caught off guard by the sudden intensity in Mark’s eyes. “She said she was going through a difficult season—”

“Her sister’s boyfriend took non-consensual, private photos of her in the shower, in her own home, for months,” Mark stated, the brutal, unvarnished truth cutting through the pristine air of the dining room. “And her sister helped him do it. She found the images on her sister’s phone. She had to sit at the dinner table with them every single day, keeping that weight inside her chest because she knew it would destroy her family if she spoke up.”

The room went completely dead silent. In the kitchen, the sound of folding napkins stopped instantly. His father’s mouth opened slightly, his pastoral eloquence completely failing him as the reality of the horror shattered the abstract concept of ‘trials.’

“She prayed, Dad,” Mark continued, his voice trembling slightly with an anger he rarely let anyone see. “She grew up in the pews just like I did. She begged for help, and nothing changed. The boyfriend still smiled at her. The sister still pretended to love her. So when she sits in your church, she doesn’t hear hymns. She hears the silence of a structure that failed to protect her. If your first instinct is to tell her she needs to fix her theology instead of weeping for what was stolen from her, then you don’t know the heart of Christ at all.”

Mark stood up, pushing his chair back. He didn't raise his voice, but the authority in his tone completely eclipsed his father’s.

“I love her,” Mark said, looking down at his parents. “I am going to spend the rest of my life making sure she knows she is safe, clean, and cherished. If you want to be a part of my life, and a part of hers, you will never bring up her faith again. You will only show her grace, or you will not see us at all.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He turned, grabbed his coat from the hallway rack, and walked out into the cool evening air, leaving the heavy silence of the house behind him.

—

When Mark returned to your apartment, the lights were dimmed, and the low, comforting hum of the refrigerator was the only sound in the kitchen. You were curled up deep in the corner of the sofa, a book resting gently against your thighs. Wrapped in your favorite hoodie that Mark gave you on your birthday, your eyes tracked the lines of text in the peaceful silence of the room.

He closed the door softly, kicking off his shoes. You finally blinked, looking up from your book as his silhouette entered the living room. It took only a second to notice the profound emotional exhaustion etched into the lines of his face. Yet, the moment his eyes found yours, that familiar, protective warmth washed over his features. He walked over and melted right into the sofa corner beside you, pulling you directly into his space. He wrapped his long arms around your waist, burying his face in the crook of your neck and holding you tightly against his chest until there was no space left between you.

You gently set your book aside, bringing a hand up to slowly run your fingers through his hair. As he let out a heavy, trembling sigh against your skin, you simply leaned into him, offering your silent support. The silence stretched between you for a few moments, peaceful and grounded, until Mark suddenly tightened his grip around your waist, pulling you even closer.

“I talked to them,” he murmured into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. “They know. They know they were wrong, and they know they will never cross that line again. I made sure of it.

For a second, the apartment fell completely still as his words sank in. Then, you let out a shaky breath, your hands coming up to tightly grip the fabric of his shirt, anchoring yourself to him as you buried your face right back into his shoulder, “You didn’t have to do that, Mark. You didn’t have to fight them for me.”

At your words, Mark exhaled a soft breath and gently pulled back. His hands moved from your waist up to your face, his large thumbs framing your jawline and lifting your chin slightly so your eyes met his. The protective warmth in his gaze was overwhelming as he looked down at you, his head shaking slightly in disagreement.

“Shh, I will always fight for you,” he said softly, yet there wasn't a single shred of doubt in his eyes as he looked down at you. “Against the world, against my family, against anything that tries to make you feel like you aren’t enough just as you are.”

Your chest tightened with a mixture of awe and profound relief. Unable to hold his intense gaze any longer, you let your body go heavy and relaxed, melting completely back into his embrace as he rested his chin on the top of your head.You closed your eyes, listening to the steady, unbothered rhythm of his heart beneath your cheek. The memories of the phone, the bathroom lock, and the suffocating guilt were still there—shadows that would take time to fully recede into the past. But as Mark tightened his grip, holding you firmly against the earth, you realized you didn’t need a golden heaven or a perfect sermon to feel saved.

♡ tw / cw: mentions of death, heavy themes of grief + loss, hurt/comfort, soft angst, fluff, markie being the sweetest boy ever :( please take care of yourself while reading... :,,)

a/n : hi angels ! just wanted to leave a quick note saying this story is actually super close to my heart bc it's based on my real life ((tho i changed some things slightly for the plot). after my mom passed, mark was honestly one of my biggest comfort... his music & just the way he is helped me heal so. much. he's my ultimate safe space and i wanted to write him that way for u too. i hope you guys can feel the love in this one. sending so much love, hugs & kisses to anyone missing someone today. ♡ 🌫️ :)

p.s. divider cr to @uzmacchiato !!!! ☕

The second Sunday of May always felt like a heavy, grey cloud had settled directly onto your chest, refusing to move until the sun went down.

It had been years since you were fourteen—the age when your world fractured and the word “Mom” became a hollow ache in your throat—but the anniversary never got lighter. It just became a different kind of heavy. A familiar weight you learned to carry, like an old, tattered coat that didn’t fit anymore but you couldn't bring yourself to throw away.

The morning had been the hardest. You’d woken up to a barrage of “Happy Mother’s Day!” notifications in group chats you’d forgotten to mute. You’d scrolled past endless photos of friends holding bouquets and smiling beside women who looked just like them. Eventually, the noise of the world became too loud, and you did the only thing you knew how to do: you retreated.

By 3:00 PM, you were buried in the sanctuary of your bedroom. The curtains were drawn tight to block out the mocking brightness of the spring sun, and you were tucked under three layers of blankets, wearing an oversized hoodie that smelled faintly of laundry detergent. You were trying very hard to simply not exist for a few hours.

The sound of the front door opening didn’t startle you. Only one person had a key, and only one person knew exactly where you’d be today.

You heard the soft thud of a bag being set on the kitchen counter, the familiar click of the kettle, and the muffled sound of footsteps moving with practiced quiet down the hallway. Your bedroom door creaked open, admitting a sliver of warm light from the hall.

“Hey,” Mark whispered.

He didn't turn on the overhead light. He didn't ask if you were okay—he already knew the answer. He just walked over to the bed and sat on the edge, his weight causing the mattress to dip in a way that felt grounding. He looked like he’d come straight from a long day out—hair slightly tousled from the wind, a comfortable knit sweater hugging his frame—but his focus was entirely on the small, shivering lump you made under the covers.

“I brought the good tea,” he said, his voice a low, soothing rasp. “The chamomile one from that little shop you like. And I got those honey biscuits.”

You poked your nose out from under the duvet, your eyes red-rimmed and puffy. “You didn’t have to come over, Mark. I know you had a long day.”

Mark just shook his head, a small, sad smile playing on his lips. He reached out, his hand finding your shoulder through the thick fabric of your hoodie. “I’m exactly where I want to be. I’m not letting you do this day alone. Not a chance.”

He stayed there for a long time, just rubbing your shoulder in slow, rhythmic circles while you stared at the wall. Mark was never one for grand, empty speeches. He knew that when you were grieving a decade-old loss, “It’ll be okay” was the last thing you wanted to hear. Instead, he offered the things he was best at: his time, his silence, and his unwavering presence.

Eventually, the silence of the bedroom started to feel a bit too heavy. Mark noticed the shift in your breathing before you even spoke.

“How about we move to the living room?”he suggested softly. “I’ve got the tea waiting. I think it’s time we watch Modern Family again. Start from the pilot? We could use a little Phil Dunphy wisdom today.”

It was your “safety” show. It stayed in the background of your best days and cushioned your worst ones. You didn’t have to think when it was on; you just had to let the familiar chaos of the families wash over you.

“The pilot?” you croaked, your voice thick from crying.

“The pilot,” he confirmed, offering a hand to help you up.

He helped you untangle yourself from the blankets, and when you stood up and felt that sudden wave of vertigo—the kind of soul-deep exhaustion that only grief brings—he caught you. He tucked your head under his chin, wrapping his arms around you in a hug that felt like a fortress.

Mark was solid. He smelled like clean cotton and the faint, citrusy scent of his cologne. Standing there in the dim light, you finally let yourself lean into him. You gripped the back of his shirt, your fingers trembling, and let out a long, shaky breath against his chest.

“I miss her so much today, Mark,” you whispered. “It’s been so long, but I still feel like that fourteen-year-old girl standing in the hallway. It doesn’t go away.”

“I know,” he murmured, his hand cradling the back of your head, fingers weaving through your hair. “I know it doesn’t. And you don’t have to pretend it does for me. You can be that fourteen-year-old girl for as long as you need today. I’ve got you.”

He guided you to the living room, where he’d already set the mood. The lamp in the corner was dimmed to a soft amber, and the tea was steaming on the coffee table. He settled onto the sofa, pulling you into the space between his arm and his chest, and grabbed the remote.

As the familiar theme song filled the room, the tension in your jaw finally began to loosen. It was the comfort of the routine—the way Mark knew exactly which episodes made you laugh and which ones to skip if they were too "parent-heavy" for today.

“Tell me something about her?” he asked after a few minutes, his voice barely audible over the TV. It was his tradition. Every year, he’d ask for one story. One memory to keep her spirit in the room with you.

You took a sip of the tea, the warmth spreading through your chest. “She used to sing to me when I had nightmares,” you said softly. “But she was a terrible singer. Like, genuinely off-key. I used to tell her to stop because she was making it worse, and she’d just laugh and sing louder until I started laughing, too. Sometimes I worry I'm forgetting the exact pitch of her voice, Mark. That's what scares me the most.”

Mark reached for your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours and squeezing tightly. “You won’t. And even if the sound fades a little, the way she made you feel... that’s written in your DNA. You carry her in the way you take care of people, and the way you have so much music in you. She’s not gone as long as you’re here.”

He leaned over and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head. For the next few hours, you drifted in and out of the show. Mark didn't move, even when his arm probably went numb. He just kept his thumb moving in small circles against your hand, a constant, tethering reminder that you were grounded in the present.

When Phil did something characteristically ridiculous on screen, you let out a tiny, genuine huff of a laugh. Mark’s hold on you tightened almost imperceptibly, his own quiet chuckle vibrating against your side.

By the time the sun had fully set, the sharp, jagged edges of the day had been sanded down. Mark made you a simple dinner, coached you into eating a few bites, and eventually, when your eyes started to flutter shut against your will, he guided you back to bed.

He tucked the blankets around you with quiet, focused care. As he went to step away to clear the tea mugs, you caught his wrist.

“Stay?” you asked, your voice small.

He didn’t even hesitate. He slid into the bed beside you, still in his soft t-shirt and sweats. He pulled you back against his chest—his front to your back—and draped his arm protectively over your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“Always,” he whispered into the nape of your neck. “Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up. Tomorrow is a new day, and we’ll get through that one, too.”

The only reason you said yes to this blind date was because your mother specifically warned you not to intimidate the guy she would want to set you up with.

Which meant that you had successfully intimated some guys before, enough that she would hear back from the indignant mothers of the other douchebags you had been set up with. Also, if being honest and being yourself meant that guys were scared of you, then so be it. You needed no one’s approval to live your life the way you wanted, much less a man’s.

It’s not that you hated all men. You knew there were nice ones out there. Like your primary school headteacher, your next door neighbour when you had been living in a flatshare during university, the elderly men selling your favourite mandu, the owner of your favourite second-hand bookshop and so on…

However, all the men in your life were just disappointments. Your grandfather had never cared about you, not even before he had become a little too reliant on alcohol (your other grandfather had passed away when you had been little, so you couldn’t fault him). One of your uncles was someone who would never admit that they were wrong even when they were and completely controlled your aunt whereas the other one wouldn’t lift a finger to help out at home and as soon as he got home, he turned on the TV and stayed there until he fell asleep on the couch, so your aunt had to bring him food and drinks.

Let’s not talk about the worst of all: your father. The sad thing is that you used to idolise him. He was smart, hard-working, and seemed to know everything you were curious about as a child. For this reason, he had seemed so perfect, and you had wanted to be just like him. So you had followed his every word, his every command, and soon enough, you had lost yourself.

You had realised that you weren’t happy doing the things that he wanted, not like they were ever enough. It was like a zero sum game: you could never win no matter how much you tried. Even if you did just what he wanted - you chose the university he wanted, the major he wanted, the career he wanted -, he wasn’t satisfied. There was always something he could nitpick, and worst of all, you had started noticing how he had always put women down. He thought of his female engineer colleagues as less than him, always complained about your mother’s hobbies because he didn’t deem them sophisticated enough, and he said that business in any way was not for women.

So you had disappointed him majorly when you had left engineering behind and moved abroad to study financial management at a university that you had chosen for yourself in a country that you had chosen for yourself. Guess what? You had graduated with a first-class honours degree.

On the other hand, the most important thing was that you had found yourself in the process. Your university had offered free counselling and you had taken advantage of it, working through your past of people-pleasing, inability to say no, inability to set boundaries and holding yourself back from being yourself. Being in a foreign country on your own was challenging enough, but it was also deliberating. Away from home, you realised even more how surface-level your father’s care was, and that was the final nail in the coffin.

When you had moved back to Korea, you had also started looking for a new place because you wanted to move out of your parents’ house to start living on your own as soon as possible. You had enough money because you had worked a couple of years as an engineer and worked throughout your second degree, so you didn’t need to ask your parents for money. Of course, your father had disapproved of it, but you couldn’t care less. You had become a different person, a stronger, bolder, more confident person, and he wanted nothing of it.

Fine, it was his loss anyway. He could go back to idolising your sister no matter how much she fucked up because her? She was perfect. Even without straight As or a flawless track record of classroom behaviour, she had always been his favourite. That you couldn’t really compete with, and you hated how much you had let it affect you growing up; chasing a mirage in the desert, an illusion that had nothing to do with reality.

As for your mother, she tried in her own way to stay in touch with you including setting up blind dates for you. You were practically a spinster in their eyes, and she thought that she was doing something good by playing the matchmaker, but in all honesty, her efforts were futile because all the guys you had met so far were complete idiots. Cheating, lying, manipulating, two-faced jerks.

This time too, the date was a disaster. The food at the restaurant was at least good and more easily digestible than the nonsense the guy was spewing. Frankly, he resembled your father so much that you felt like trampling on his ego with your high heels. Did he really think that by criticizing your choice of profession, you would fall at his feet, pleading with him to marry you, so that you could be a housewife instead of working in finance?

“Look… As they say, time is money, and I feel like I’m nearing bankruptcy listening to your nonsense, so I suggest we both go our own ways instead of wasting our time here. You won’t change my mind about my career, you won’t change my mind about a woman’s place in the household, and you definitely won’t change my mind about you being a jerk, so…”

You shrugged at the end of your monologue, your smile so mellifluous that someone without context might think that you were actually harbouring feelings for this prick who was not only shocked but also annoyed upon hearing your words.

Ding-dong. That’s when they all show their true colours…

“You listen to me, you little-”

“Blablabla, I can’t hear you, and you can’t tell me anything I haven’t heard before, so let me just remove myself from this extremely uncomfortable and unsupportive atmosphere,” you announced as you stood up from the table and pushed your chair back.

You gave him one last death stare before turning on your heel and leaving the restaurant, his not-so-pleasant words thrown at you not reaching you anymore.

Needless to say, you weren’t really in a good mood after such a disastrous date. So the last thing you wanted was to run into your neighbour when you got home, but as you were fumbling with your keys in front of your door, the door of the flat opposite of yours flew open and a chatty male voice called out:

“Hey, yo! I finally ran into you.”

Hey, yo? What on Earth?

You cautiously turned around, your keys in your hands, ready to be faced with a typical fuckboy who felt like he could talk to women like one of his dudes, but instead, a boy who literally looked like a boy-next-door kind of guy looked back at you.

He wasn’t super tall, he wasn’t super muscular either, but he had these big doe eyes and boyish features that made it difficult to guess whether he was 16 or 26. Though judging by the fact that the landlord said that one single guy lived on this floor, he should have been over 18 to live alone.

“Hi!” You greeted him back, your voice neutral at best, but the guy either didn’t catch onto it or he was this merry-go-round even when faced with a girl who wasn’t in a good mood.

“I’ve heard that someone was moving in, but I guess we didn’t manage to catch each other before,” he chatted excitedly, but you just deadpanned as you mumbled.

“Apparently.”

An awkward silence filled the air which was usually the cue for the other person to whimper away, but this boy looked way too casual and friendly for his own good. Plus, he beat you to it, so instead of you excusing yourself to actually enter your flat, he introduced himself as Mark Lee.

So you had no choice but to introduce yourself too, solely out of politeness.

“Uhm, so, what do you do for a living?” He asked as if you had all the time in the world when you just wanted this day to end.

On the other hand, this Mark Lee guy didn’t look like he meant harm, so you unlocked your jaw and dropped your shoulders (you were usually tense and cautious around new people) before you answered.

“I work in finance.”

“Wait, so you’re like a finance bro! But in a female version, of course. Is there a female version to the term? Finance lady, perhaps?” He blabbered, carefree like a puppy waggling its tail.

You had to give it to him that you had never been asked the same question when people heard what field you worked in, but men didn’t usually react like this, they merely judged your choice of profession.

“I wouldn’t know. There’s only one other female employee in the finance team.”

“What? That’s not right.”

Mark looked as if you had told him that the world would end the next day. Truth to be told, it was kind of flattering that a guy could ever react like that when it came to your job and the environment you worked in. Needless to say, the only other female employee in the finance team was your manager, the one who had hired you. She had been promoted after the previous male manager had left for a different company, so she knew exactly how hard one must work in this field to be taken seriously as a woman. You were lucky that you could confide in her though.

“What about you?” You asked about his side instead of pondering over his reaction, and he immediately switched back to chatty mode.

“Oh well, I’m not really good with numbers. I’m actually a songwriter. But don’t worry, I don’t make a lot of noise at home. I have my equipment in the studio,” he explained in detail even if you didn’t ask.

When the second momentary silence fell over you, you took it upon you to break it by announcing:

“Well, it was nice meeting you, but if you excuse me, I’ll head inside now.”

“Yeah, sure. My bad,” he replied with a semi-nervous chuckle and he literally stepped back as if you were heading that way.

Instead, you turned back to your own door and let yourself in, feeling the weariness of the day taking over you as soon as you got rid of your high heels.

Ah, what a day!

It was truly astonishing how men had the audacity to make comments on a woman’s body, choice or opinion, but when women bit back, they got offended, pleaded that they were only joking or blamed women for being too emotional or uptight or perhaps being on their period.

Like that day when you went to pick up your new blanket chest from the store. Even though the order was under your name, the man at the collection point dared to ask you where your boyfriend was to help you take it home. When you proceeded to tell him that you would be fine on your own, he laughed and said that “eventually all women are broken in”.

He even dared to smirk at you as if you were ready to fall at his feet and marry him for being so witty. Instead, you picked up the box on your own and pulled your lips into a mellifluous smile as you remarked:

“Women are not horses, but how would a man like you with the brain capacity of a bathroom rug know that?”

Now, he didn’t feel like smirking anymore, but you were already out of the store by the time his comeback would have reached you. You definitely didn’t need a man’s help because though the blanket chest wasn’t that big, it weighed quite a bit, but that’s why you were exercising. Not to look good and definitely not to appeal to men, but to be able to carry everything you wanted, let that be groceries or new furniture.

Thankfully, you had a seat on the metro, so you were saved from holding the box for half an hour, but you were panting a bit by the time you reached your flat.

Obviously, Mr-eager-neighbour just had to walk out of his flat as you reached your floor.

“Oh hey, Y/N! Need some help with that?”

“What is with you men thinking that a woman can’t do this on her own?” You muttered, rolling your eyes, as you put the box on the floor in front of your door. Then, you turned towards Mark who looked back at you with his big doe eyes, ready to defend himself. Before he could do so, you continued. “I’ve brought this back on my own all the way from the store, so I think I can manage for the last few metres.”

“Oh wow, you’re strong!” He remarked in awe, but as soon as he saw your unamused expression, he explained himself. “I mean, you’re right. You were literally just three steps away from your door. I guess it just came naturally to me to offer help. Not because you couldn’t do it on your own, but in case you were struggling but didn’t want to say so yourself.”

“Oh, I will tell you if I need help. I’m not one to hold back my opinion,” you laid down your cards in case he was wondering if you were a damsel in distress.

If you genuinely needed help, you would say so without shame, without caring what others might think. You had grown a thick skin over the years, so such things didn’t make you freeze on the spot anymore, leaving you with regrets as to how else you could have handled the situation.

If Mark was like the typical example of the male species you usually encountered, he would make a comment on how you were high on your horses or how you were so brazen. Maybe he would even give you a seductive smirk, saying that he liked girls who didn’t hold back. Or he would even remark that you should know your place and this was no way you should speak to a man.

Instead, Mark looked so apologetic (like a puppy who did something wrong) that you felt bad for him for a millisecond before the walls around your heart recomposed.

“That’s absolutely fine. Honestly. Like… just be yourself, you know?” He tried to play it cool, but his wild hand gestures didn’t exactly help his awkward self. He giggled like a school girl when he realised that he had just made a fool out of himself, but then, as if lighting struck him, he snapped his fingers and asked:

“Does it mean I can also ask you for help?”

You were about to open your mouth to say something when you realised that you weren’t quite sure how to word yourself. This was not a question you had been asked. Even when you were young, your father had only asked you to help your mother (because obviously he was too mighty to help out his wife), not him. Never him. Even when he had wanted you to take after him and be an engineer, he had literally never let you see the projects he had been working on. You had never done those experiments at home together that other kids who had nothing to do with physics had done with their parents.

“I mean… sure,” you blurted out, slightly uncertain, but even that was enough to light up his whole face.

“Cool. I might ask your opinion on some songs that I’ve been working on because I need a female’s perspective on it. I’m only working with dudes, and to be honest, I don’t want my lyrics to come across negatively to the most likely female listeners that will listen to it. If that makes sense.”

Mark’s whole monologue was said in one-go, and though he was clumsily trying to get to his point, you actually appreciated his idea. Huh, a male songwriter who cares about what female listeners would feel about his lyrics? How unlikely. How revolutionary for the male species!

“Okay,” you bobbed your head, giving in.

“Thanks. That would be awesome!” Mark hollered excitedly. At times like this, it was even harder to tell just how old he was because he looked like a kid at an amusement park. “I gotta go now though. See you soon!”

He bid his goodbye with a wave of his hands and a big smile, and all you could do was to watch him go down the stairs with the most perplexed expression ever.

Just who was this guy? And what was his deal?

Surely, he would show his flaws soon. He would make those remarks, go against your opinion, try to mansplain and make you regret that you had ever allowed him to talk to you.

Surely, it will happen soon.

Mark’s personality confused the hell out of you.

You were always ready for him to drop his act, to finally act like the douchebags you had the chance to meet previously, but it never came. Instead, he just appeared more and more… innocent, if you will.

As it turned out, he was the same age as you, but he was still in awe at random things like the project you were working on at work. One time, he even showed you the picture he took of the sunset, claiming that you just had to see it because it was the prettiest sunset he had ever seen. He said it with such enthusiasm, it felt like he had just won the lottery.

Then, there was his kind heart. Even though you had been suspicious at first, the boy had literally never said anything offensive to you, had never even looked at you any differently no matter what you wore or how much make-up you put on (as neighbours, he frequently bumped into you in your PJs as you were taking out the trash or in smart casual clothes when you were going to work). He was rather clumsy and silly at times, stumbling over his words and going on whole monologues about his point instead of getting straight to it, and he got shy more often than not when you challenged him with a question or gave him one of your trademark death stares.

He was… different. For the first time in your life, you had no idea how to act around a guy because you couldn’t diss him for who he was because he was a nice guy. He didn’t even bat an eye when you vented to him about men. In fact, he even took your side! So very strange…

Also, he did end up asking you for help with a couple of songs. He said that he wanted face-to-face feedback if you were up for it and suggested coming over to his flat, but the alarms went off in your head immediately. You told him ‘absolutely not’ and asked him to choose a neutral place instead - a coffee shop or a park, for instance.

So you ended up going to a coffee shop where one of his friends allegedly worked, and sat down at a table somewhere in the back. Right away, a tall guy appeared at your table and after a few ‘hey, dude, how have you been’ questions, Mark introduced you to his friend, Johnny.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. Just so you know, you’re the first girl Mark brought here, so I have a feeling you must be special,” Johnny gave you an amused smile, but your eyes immediately averted to Mark’s who wanted to hide his face behind his hands.

“Dude, don’t embarrass me like that,” he whimpered, and truth to be told, the sight was kind of funny.

And cute.

Good god, not cute.

Not… cute.

“I was just stating facts,” Johnny shrugged (though Mark couldn’t see it because he was covering his face with his hands), and gave you a knowing look before he went behind the counter to get started on your drinks.

It took Mark a few seconds to pull himself together and be able to look you in the eyes. Not that you would take it the wrong way that you were the first girl he brought here. In fact, it showed you that he wasn’t the womanizer type, and this wasn’t the place he frequently brought girls to. Not that you were on a date or anything, but it was good to know. He could get a cookie point for it on your non-existent nice guy chart.

“Sorry about that. He’s too…”

“Honest?”

Mark let out a semi-awkward giggle before he answered.

“Well… yeah.”

It was evident from the way they interacted with each other that their friendship was very brotherly. Which made you curious about how they had met because Johnny did look older than him, and they apparently didn’t work at the same place either.

So you decided to ask the boy about it and he let you know that he actually lived across the street when he was at uni. Johnny had already worked here back then, and they had become friends almost immediately.

“Sometimes I feel like he treats me as if I was his little brother. Which is funny because neither of us have any siblings,” he shared casually before asking if you had siblings.

“I have a sister, but we don’t really talk to each other when it’s not necessary. She’s always been the favourite child and I was not.”

“Oh, shoot, Y/N. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t. I’ve never mentioned it, and it’s not your fault that it’s the way I was brought up,” you pointed out, your voice measured.

Others’ pity didn’t help your situation, but you had learned how to be okay with that. It took you a long time, but by disappointing people around you, you actually became the happiest, most authentic version of yourself. Turns out not everyone loved you for who you really were when you finally spoke up, stood up for yourself and chased your own dreams, but that was on them, not you.

“Still. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Mark said so apologetically that coupled with his big doe eyes, you found it difficult to contain the stoic facade you usually had on.

“It’s okay, Mark. It really is,” you reassured him, your voice more gentle than ever before.

The moment was interrupted by Johnny who showed up with the drinks, his eyebrows furrowed when he caught sight of your facial expressions.

“I’m sensing a tense atmosphere here. What happened?” Johnny asked first thing first as he started serving you the drinks.

“Nothing,” you said in unison with Mark, but that just made Johnny more suspicious. He squinted his eyes as he looked between you two before turning towards you.

“Let me know if you ever need better company than Mark’s.”

“Dude!” Mark said in that boyish, whining voice of his, and for the first time that day, you found yourself smiling at their antics. That seemed to put Johnny’s mind at ease because he walked up to another table instead, a smile hiding in the corner of his lips.

As you turned back to Mark, you prompted him to show you the songs that he had prepared.

“Oh, right. The songs. Silly me. That’s what we’re here for,” he singsonged giddily before he opened his laptop and smashed his keyboard a few times a bit too enthusiastically.

You brought your own noise-cancelling headphones, so after pairing it with his device, he started playing the songs for you one by one. You listened attentively, taking a few notes in your trusty notebook, and you discussed your feedback in between songs. Mark really did appreciate your comments, and he never seemed offended by what you said. Which was a relief because you hated men who told you how you should feel.

However, at one point, you couldn’t help but chuckle and slid your headphones off because you couldn’t continue with the song.

“What is this ‘long ass ride’ part?”

“Ah well…” He let out an awkward little giggle, his hand scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “Is it bad?”

He blinked back at you with those chocolate-brown eyes of his, worried as if you were about to say that it was the worst piece of songwriting you had ever encountered in your entire life. He really did look so innocent at times.

“It was certainly… surprising,” you decided on the appropriate word before adding with a shrug. “But it’s not really a love song either way, so I guess it’s fine.”

He seemed so relieved by your comment that he gifted you with the widest, happiest smile you had seen from him, and you instinctively followed. How on Earth did this guy have this effect on you?

Either way, you weren’t here on a date, so your smiles didn’t mean anything. Even if Mark turned out to be a nice guy, it didn’t mean that you were in love with him or something. You had so many bad experiences with men around you (even without dating them) that you couldn’t just fall for a guy like him.

Interestingly so, even if you were neighbours with Mark, you didn’t usually bump into each other in the neighbourhood. Which was funny because you had a downstairs neighbour, Xiaojun, who lived together with his friend, Ten (and Ten’s three cats), and you always bumped into him when he was taking his dog for a walk. At least his dog (Bella) was pretty quiet, so her barking didn’t disturb the peace of the apartment, but you just couldn’t imagine how two guys with four pets managed to live together.

Either way, that particular Friday night, you spotted Mark sitting by himself beside the windows at the local GS25 with a steaming bowl of noodles in front of him. He seemed quite deep in thought or maybe he was in a bad mood. Either way, something in you moved at the boy’s apparent lack of spirits, and you decided to sit beside him when you were done filling up your own plastic cup with water.

“Hi Mark!” You greeted the boy as you halted beside him, but he just kept staring ahead, so you cleared your throat and repeated yourself.

He snapped his head back when he heard you, and gave you an apologetic smile.

“Oh hey, Y/N! I’m so sorry. I was totally zoning out. My bad.”

“It’s okay,” you shrugged because it was no big deal, really. “Do you mind if I sit with you?”

“Not at all,” Mark replied immediately and shook his head. He even adjusted his chair, so that you could have enough space for yourself by the table even though there was already plenty to begin with.

You were never really one to comfort people, especially not men. However, Mark had been nothing but kind and supportive towards you, and you felt like fighting anyone who might have caused his smile to turn into a frown, so you couldn’t help but inquire if everything was alright.

“Ah yeah… I just…” He started cautiously, scratching the back of his neck out of nervousness. He was usually bubbly and talkative, so seeing him not just nervous but sad as well did not sit right with you. “Well, a lot of my songs were rejected at today’s meeting, and it felt… not so good. They just said that the songs wouldn’t fit the artists they wanted them for, but no constructive feedback was given. And that wasn’t so helpful, you know? Like… how else am I going to… you know… improve?”

He was trying to hide behind a nervous chuckle, but you could tell that his features were solemn instead of soft and he was clenching his jaw as well. He was so not fine despite wanting to appear fine in front of you.

“And I know it’s silly because my songs get rejected all the time because that’s how the industry works, you know? Usually, it doesn’t affect me either. But today, it just hurt,” he admitted, his voice becoming quieter and quieter by the end of his monologue.

Then, he sucked in a deep breath, and if nothing had happened, he turned his head towards you and forced a smile onto his lips.

“How about you though? I’m sure you have bigger problems than I do,” he tried to direct the conversation elsewhere as soon as the confession was out, but you didn’t have any of it.

“Mark…” You started tentatively, trying to think about your wording, so you would get the message across and he wouldn’t feel even more disheartened. “It’s okay to talk about yourself. It’s okay if something hurts you even if you usually don’t take such things to heart. But it’s not okay to belittle your own problems because you think that someone else has bigger problems. Okay? You are a completely different person and you have a completely different life. There’s no use in comparing us to one another.”

This was something that you had to learn the hard way, and you wanted nothing more than to see everyone else adopt this mindset, too. The world would be a much better place if people didn’t bring each other down but rather celebrated each other’s success. Everyone was on such different paths, there was literally no use comparing yourself to others.

You used to compare yourself to your sister as well, wondering why she was the favourite child and why you weren’t, but as years went by and you started to become more in tune with your own emotions, you realised that you were chasing a fantasy. Sisterhood should have never been about being in a race or a competition, and even if it was, being second place didn’t mean that you were a bad person. It just meant that your parents created the rules differently for your sister.

Mark’s shoulders visibly slumped in ease and he unclenched his jaw. His lips began to form a pout and he let out a sigh before he spoke up.

“You’re right. You’re absolutely right. I guess it’s just hard since I’m surrounded by dudes all the time. They don’t really like to talk about emotions,” he pointed out what you had already assumed, but you were glad that he drew that conclusion himself.

“That’s why you’re better than them,” you blurted out without thinking twice about it, and Mark’s face literally reddened hearing your words.

“Oh, so you think I’m not like other boys?” He teased you playfully, the dimples around his lips deepening. The sudden change in his behaviour put your mind at ease, but being called out didn’t feel so good, so you turned back to your noodles and urged the boy to do the same before his food would get cold.

While having cheap convenience store food, you talked about everything from work to hobbies, misogyny to sustainability, childhood memories to future goals. Mark was an easy person to talk to because he had something to say about everything, but you meant it in the best way possible. He wasn’t trying to mansplain anything, he was rather conversational and curious, and someone willing to share so much about his life. He never wanted to tell you what you should think even if you didn’t agree with him on something, and he was such a down-to-earth person. A guy who was down-to-earth… now that was a big thing in your eyes.

He was also really funny and had a childlike innocence to him. He also used big hand gestures and made funny noises when reacting to things. You couldn’t really put it into words, but the way he saw the world was both mature and full of that kind of curiosity that kids possessed. You had long lost that kind of curiosity in the world, in the little things in life, in the positivity hiding behind the negativity. You were usually focused on major problems like global warming and gender inequality, but he did see the good in everyday interactions and he did see the good in people. You wished that you could see the world through his eyes a bit more, too.

After talking for what felt like hours, you ended up walking home together, but before you would have opened the door to your flat, Mark called after you and thanked you for today.

“Anytime,” you responded with a smile, and you were surprised to realise that you were actually being serious.

You didn’t help Mark with his lyrics to get something in return, but the boy kept telling you that he wanted to repay you, especially after doing a couple more sessions together when you helped him finetune his words.

Obviously, Johnny was there to witness the other sessions too, and you caught him staring at you two whenever he wasn’t serving customers. Which could have been scary and outright creepy under different circumstances, but he was a nice guy, and he really acted like a big brother to Mark, so you had a feeling that he was just watching over you two. Plus, you generated some extra income for him and the coffee shop because the sessions did stretch for a couple of hours at times, so he really couldn’t complain.

At first, the boy just kept dropping things off in front of your door - such as your favourite brand of mango juice or your favourite flavour of Pepero -, then, he kept paying for your drinks at the coffee shop. Then, he ended up asking you if he could take you somewhere, but it would be a secret, so you couldn’t know beforehand where it was. When you told him that you hated surprises, he insisted that you would enjoy it.

And oh boy, was he right… Because the guy literally took you to the very same exhibition that you had wanted to attend the day later, the one about gender inequality globally and in Korea, dissecting topics like the underfunding regarding women’s healthcare research, gender pay gaps in the workplace, the freedom (or the lack thereof) of women’s clothing choices back in the day vs modern times and such. It was an exhibition put together by sociology students from two Korean universities and their partner universities in Europe, and displayed at an art gallery where mostly men’s art pieces were shown, further encouraging conversation around these issues.

“You like it?” Mark inquired tentatively when you set foot inside the art gallery (after getting lost because he was terrible with directions), and when you looked at him, he appeared genuinely nervous, biting down on his lower lip as if he was ready for a scolding.

Which, to be fair, wasn’t unwarranted coming from you, but this time, your lips curled into a smile, and your voice was free of sarcasm when you admitted:

“I love it! This is an exhibition I’ve also wanted to attend!” 

“Oh my gosh, really?” Mark’s eyes widened to twice their size before he let out a joyous giggle. “Gosh, I’m so relieved. I was scared for a second when you didn’t say anything,” he confessed truthfully, his eyes twinkling with mirth. You joined in on the laughter before sharing with him that you were actually at a loss for words because you were surprised that he knew about this event in the first place.

Mark chatted your ears off about how he had come to find out about this exhibition, and what other ideas he had in mind to repay you for your help. Some were more fitting for your personality than others, and you laughed when he mentioned that it had even crossed his mind that you should have attended one of Johnny’s barista workshops because he was sure that you wouldn’t hear the end of it from the older guy if you had ended up attending it. Though Mark was more afraid of embarrassing himself in front of you (and Johnny) than you actually being there with him.

The exhibition was fascinating, but Mark’s presence did make it even better because he was his usual curious self and oftentimes asked you if you felt the same way about the experiences that were shared or admitted that he didn’t even know about such inequalities when it came to women. Most men you knew would never admit that they were in the wrong, but he was unashamed about it, and you loved that about him.

Wait, what?

Love?

No, nope… not in that way, of course. You loved that about his personality, that was a better way to put it.

After the exhibition, you headed to a coffee shop together, and as you were waiting for your drinks to arrive, you asked the question that had been on your mind for quite some time now.

“Why don’t you ask about it?”

“About what?” He asked back, his eyebrows furrowed in question. He looked genuinely perplexed, but you were more surprised by the fact that he hadn’t yet inquired about the reason behind your hatred towards men.

“About why I hate men so much,” you stated (what seemed like) the obvious, and his features softened hearing your words.

“You don’t have to tell me anything that you aren’t comfortable sharing. Besides, I’m sure you have your own reasons, I know some men can be real jerks,” he shrugged as if it was common knowledge, but yet again, you were at a loss for words because how could you object? How could you go against his words?

You simply couldn’t because he was yet again being understanding and empathetic, and given that you had not really encountered men who had admitted such things, you weren’t sure how to react. On the other hand, you were saved by the barista who showed up with your drinks, and gave you some time to think.

You decided on telling him the reason either way. About how you had not had a positive male figure growing up; about your father’s obsession with getting you into engineering and his disapproval when you had chosen to do a degree in finance; about your grandfather never really caring about you even before he became an alcoholic; about your uncles being lazy and controlling and not helping out their wives at home, even when they had kids they could have taken care of. You had talked about high school classmates who had objectified women and watched porn during breaks besides the sports field, and men during your time abroad who had looked down on you simply because you were a woman studying finance.

Mark was big on reactions, and even though he was listening attentively, he couldn’t hold himself back from saying things like “Whaaaat, that’s crazy” or “Oh my god, are you being for real? That’s insane” when you had told him what you had been through. Of course, not every single male had been a complete jackass in your life, and you made sure to point that out, but the ones who should have been role models and who should have set good examples were exactly the ones that had made you feel small, uncared for and easy to control.

Mark apologised on behalf of all the men who had wronged you before, and said that he completely understood why you acted the way you did. Then, he added that he hoped that he could set a good example, and show you that not all men were bad.

“Don’t worry. You aren’t in that category,” you eased his nerves as you turned towards him, and he gifted you with the kind of smile that also made his dimples visible.

“I’m glad then.”

So were you.

But you were equally concerned about what your feelings might have been hinting at, and you weren’t sure that you were ready to face them head-on, so you turned back to nursing your drink instead, and let the conversation steer towards a different topic.

One would think that just because you hated most men, you also hated romcoms.

However, you were actually a big fan of romantic movies, dramas and books because fictional men were way better than real ones. Fictional men couldn’t cheat on you, disrespect you or disappoint you as real men could, so what could go wrong?

That Friday too, you were binge-watching a newly dropped Netflix series when you heard muffled sounds from the corridor. You usually didn’t pay attention to such noises because you lived with others, so it was natural that they made some noise. Mark was usually quiet, but it was odd that he would talk to someone outside of his flat for more than a few minutes close to midnight.

So after you gave it a couple more minutes, you decided to look through your peephole to see what Mark was doing, and realise that he was actually not with someone, he was talking to himself.

The boy was swaying in front of his front door, dramatically clutching his chest while singing something about not remembering the numbers (what a weird thing to sing about), and you could already tell from his miniature version through the peephole that he was drunk.

You opened your door much to the boy’s surprise who almost stumbled over his own feet when he turned around to face you.

“Oh heeey theeeeere,” he singsonged giddily and hiccuped after his words.

You rolled your eyes at his antics but to be fair, you were more afraid of him falling down the stairs than him making a bigger fool out of himself.

“What are you doing out here, Mark?”

He pouted like a little child, his eyes shining dreamily, and even his cheeks were tinted pink, so there was no way you would not call the sight cute even though he had very obviously underestimated his limit and you usually didn’t condemn such behaviour.

“I forgot the numbers to my doorlock,” he whimpered, looking back at his front door with such a sad expression that you would have thought somebody died.

Oh, so those were the numbers he was singing about…

You tried to ask him if it was his birthday or his parents’ birthday or anything like that, but he said that he had tried everything that he could think of. He faintly remembered having it changed recently, but he couldn’t recall as to what the new combination was.

“Oh my god… do you think I’m going to have to sleep on the streets? Alone? In the rain?”

His voice was so desperate (yet dramatic), you had a feeling that his tipsy self actually believed it to be true. That’s when you noticed that he was already wet, tiny raindrops sitting on his pitch-black hair, and the sleeves of his puffer jacket was darker than usual.

“Stupid, stupid me… why did I change the numbers? I mean, I had to… for security reasons or whatever the doorlock company said, but argh…”

Mark continued acting like a child, complaining about his lack of memory regarding the new combination, but when he started saying that he will just sleep on the floor in the corridor, an alarm went off in your head, and you immediately said something that you would have never thought you would say to a man:

“Are you crazy? Stay at my flat instead!”

Despite his drunken state, the guy looked as shocked as his sober self would, and his eyes widened as well. Then, he drooped his head low and mumbled something akin to:

“But I don’t want you to hate me.”

“Don’t be silly! I don’t hate you, and you better believe it because I wouldn’t offer such a thing to someone I hate,” you stated matter-of-factly.

He still seemed pretty reluctant, but when you opened the door wider to let him inside, he tentatively walked in and immediately started taking off his shoes. Gosh, he had manners even when he was drunk…

You gave him a pair of unused slippers, and beckoned him inside. He looked around as if he was Alice in Wonderland while you were busy getting him some water and some towels for his hair from the bathroom. When you went back to the living room, he was sitting on your couch, looking at a framed photo of you with your peers on your graduation day abroad.

“There were so many guys in your class just like you’ve said,” he pointed out when you put the glass of water on the table in front of him. It was pretty amusing that he remembered such a small thing that you had said to him a while aho but not his new doorlock combination.

“Groupworks were pretty gruesome. None of the guys really wanted to pull their weight.”

“Ah, such a shame…” Mark noted as he put the photo back on the table. “Your parents must have been so proud,” he added as he turned towards you, but when he saw the change in your expression, he hit his forehead with his right hand. So dramatic, even when tipsy!

“Oh my gosh, I’m sorry. I just remembered that your father didn’t approve of your studies. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“It’s alright. My mother actually said that she was proud of me when I graduated, so there’s that,” you shared with him, and that seemed to put his mind at ease.

Instead of dissecting your graduation story, you inquired why he had been drinking so much. He said that one of his songs got an award, and he was really proud of it, but because he wasn’t the artist, he wasn’t invited to the ceremony, and only got to know about it at work, so he and his colleagues went out for some drinks to celebrate.

“I swear I started with apple juice!” He tried to save some face, but you just shook your head.

“Sure…” You replied, but there was a smile in the corner of your lips. “Now, dry your hair and drink some water!” You practically ordered him, but you didn’t want him to catch a cold. Or to wake up with a throbbing headache tomorrow morning.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He saluted for you and you couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. Gosh, he was really something.

However, Mark was quite childish when tipsy, and though he did gulp down the glass of water you had given him, he was fussy about the towels. He said that he wasn’t even that wet and that he was actually more sleepy than cold, but you just rolled your eyes at him as you reached for the towel.

“At least don’t wet my couch,” you reprimanded him before starting to dry his hair yourself, but you realised at the same time as him how awfully domestic this scene was because he suddenly seemed all too sober, his foggy expression replaced by a surprised one.

However, instead of making a comment on your odd behaviour, he blurted out something that no one had ever told you before.

“I’m so sorry that men have been such jerks to you. You deserve better. You’re such a wonderful person,” he confessed gently, and though it was rare that you were rendered speechless by a man’s actions, you were unable to form a response. What is more, you felt a squeezing sensation around your heart.

You were staring into each others’ eyes for what felt like an eternity before his sudden hiccups ruined the mood and you decided to drop the towel on the edge of the couch. The boy picked it up himself this time and ended up drying his hair to a pretty chaotic mess but at least it wasn’t wet anymore.

“The bathroom is to the right. If you need anything, just knock on my door. I’m a pretty light sleeper,” you told him before turning away and closing yourself in your room, your heart hammering away rapidly.

Thankfully, Mark didn’t make things awkward the next day. He profoundly apologised for his behaviour and ended up gifting you a hamper box as a token of his apology two days later with all your favourite things (which, by this point, didn’t surprise you because he was perceptive like that).

On the other hand, you weren’t sure what to do with your feelings because surely, you should have been frustrated, angry and disappointed. You never liked people who drank too much (mostly because of your grandfather), and you definitely wouldn’t let just any man sleep over at your place. However, Mark was not just any man, and somehow, his tipsy antics didn’t put you off. Rather, you found it endearing. The thought itself should have disgusted you, and you were very surprised by how you were feeling, so you tried to give yourself enough time to ponder over it.

After all, Mark was the first and only guy you let close to yourself, and he went against anything you had against men in general. He had never acted like a walking red flag, had never disrespected you (or for that matter, any women), and he had seemed so genuine, you were sure that he wasn’t just acting. He was curious and empathetic, and yes, he was a bit silly and childlike, but not in a bad way. 

On the other hand, you had always been alone, and your experiences with men were rather disappointing, so you had never imagined yourself beside anyone, let alone a man. You had never liked any boy either, not as a crush, not as a boyfriend. You had been perfectly fine on your own, and even though admitting to yourself that you liked Mark was nowhere near a confession, you were kind of torn about what the next step should be. After all, just because you liked Mark didn’t mean that he liked you back even though his words and actions sometimes made you think so.

Your unsaid questions were answered when you bumped into Xiaojun one day who was taking Bella on a walk while you were walking back to your flat after work.

“Hey, Y/N!” The guy greeted you cheerily, and as he halted in front of you, Bella also followed suit and started sniffing your shoes enthusiastically.

“Hi Xiaojun!” You greeted him back before crouching down to pet his dog. Sometimes you wondered if your love for dogs replaced your love for men because you sure would have liked spending more time with dogs.

You had a little chit-chat about work and Bella before Xiaojun’s question made you freeze for a moment.

“You’re coming to Hendery’s wedding, right?”

“What?” You furrowed your eyebrows in question, sending him a deadpan look.

“Hendery and Ahyun’s wedding, you know,” he looked back at you quizzically, but that didn’t help your case one bit. You still had no idea what he was talking about. The name ‘Hendery’ rang a bell (was it one of Mark’s colleagues?), but the girl’s name… not so much.

“I don’t know whom you are talking about.”

The guy let out a surprised ‘huh’ before he asked a question that yet again made you confused.

“Mark hasn’t asked you to be his plus one yet?” He quirked an eyebrow, but you just shook your head hearing his words.

You stopped petting Bella to be able to stand up and look him in the eye for further explanation. As if hit by lighting, the guy hit his forehead with his hand before he exclaimed as if he had set something on fire:

“Oh shit… I shouldn’t have told you that. Mark asked me to keep it a secret.”

He looked genuinely remorseful, but you were more intrigued by the ‘why’ behind Mark’s actions than Xiaojun’s guilt.

“Why would he want to bring me as a plus one though?” You questioned as you laced your arms in front of your chest, becoming uneasy.

You were sure that you had not met the said Hendery or the said Ahyun, but if Mark wanted to bring you as a plus one to their wedding, he must have been serious about it. He wasn’t flimsy about these things, especially because he knew how much you hated surprises and last minute plans.

“Because he likes you,” Xiaojun shrugged as if it was common sense, but when he caught sight of your flushed cheeks and your surprised expression, he hit himself on the forehead yet again.

“Damnit, I shouldn’t have told you that either. He hasn’t told you yet how he feels, has he?” He asked for confirmation, and you shook your head in return.

He let out an aghast sigh, so loudly that even Bella perched up, wondering what her owner was so dramatic about.

“Oh no… I just ruined everything for him. He said he wants to wait until he feels like you’re ready to hear his confession because he wants to respect your feelings, and he doesn’t want to force you to reciprocate his feelings. Oh gosh! Act like you haven’t heard anything,” he frantically shook his hands in front of his chest and immediately made an excuse about having to take Bella closer to a green area because she had that pooping face on her.

Poor dog looked so confused at the mention of her name, and though you knew Xiaojun was chaotic like this, you would have never thought that you would one day get to know that Mark liked you back thanks to his loose mouth.

The remaining question was how to let Mark know about it, too.

The thought of confronting Mark about what you had heard didn’t entirely scare you. It was rather unsettling because you had no idea how to bring up the topic and also admit that you liked him back without him thinking that you were joking.

You knew that you could come off rather standoffish and stiff, and you wanted nothing else than the boy to think that you weren’t serious or worse, that you wanted to make fun of his feelings. Of course, you didn’t care about men’s feelings on the daily because if they said something rude or misogynistic, women weren’t allowed to feel hurt, but if a woman said something slightly offensive about men, they were ready to start a revolution.

However, Mark was different. You had to realise that you did care about his feelings because he deserved it. That wasn’t an easy feat when it came to you, but you genuinely cared whether your words hurt him or not, because he was so gentle and kind and honestly too good for this world. You weren’t even sure how he had ended up liking you, but if he did, who were you to question his feelings? You felt the same way, so you should have been happy.

On the other hand, you had never done anything like this before, and being sentimental wasn’t your forte either. So you decided on sleeping on it, but it seemed like someone had other plans because Mark ended up knocking on your door about an hour after your encounter with Xiaojun.

You had just finished putting in a load of laundry and were about to have some dinner when you heard the frantic knocking on the door, and instead of a busybody neighbour fussing about the upcoming residents’ meeting or an elderly lady asking you to help her cat get off a shelf (both had happened before), it was the boy with the big doe eyes who turned up on the other side of your door.

“Hey! Do you have a minute?” Mark asked, panting as if he had run up the stairs. You furrowed your eyebrows in question, but he seemed rather indignant, so it was either about something unexpected or Xiaojun had confessed everything to him and he wanted to come clean.

Either way, you weren’t one to be suspicious of his intentions. Not anymore.

“Sure,” you bobbed your head and invited him inside.

You had not done so since the day he had drunkenly sung to himself in front of his own flat after forgetting the password to his doorlock, but you deemed this matter quite urgent and personal if he came up to your door without asking about it via text beforehand.

“Thanks,” Mark let out a long sigh before he walked inside.

You closed the door behind him and turned to him, totally expecting him to already make himself comfortable on the couch or maybe by the kitchen table, but instead, he just stood there, frozen, as if his mind had drawn a blank.

“Are you okay?” You quirked an eyebrow, slightly concerned. The boy, as if woken from a stupor, started talking so fast that you could barely follow.

“Look, I know that Xiaojun has told you about Hendery and Ahyun’s wedding. I know he has spilled the beans that I wanted to ask you to be my plus one. Hendery is one of my colleagues, by the way, he is a songwriter and producer on the team, and Ahyun, you probably know her by the name ‘Little Miss’. The solo singer, you know. Hendery has contributed to a lot of her songs as did I, as you know because you helped me with some of her lyrics…”

“Mark, breathe!” You reminded him with a slightly amused smile, and though the boy let his lips curl upwards for a few seconds, his features returned to solemn afterwards.

“So anyways, he’s also told me that he’s told you that I like you, and that’s why I wanted you to come with me to the wedding. But I was hesitant, and I am still hesitant whether you like me back, and you know that I would never, ever force you to do something that you don’t want to. Let that be accompanying me to the wedding or liking me back. And I also know how much you hate men and even though I like you that doesn’t mean that you have to like me, too. But since he’s already-”

“Mark, I like you, too,” you broke his monologue, but he was so lost in his own monologue that the words just seemed to fly over his head.

“Told me about what happened, I was like, might as well let her know that it’s cool if she doesn’t like me-” This was the point Mark’s whole demeanour changed, and the first flicker of hope glinted in his chocolate-brown eyes. “Wait, did you just say you like me?” His eyes grew to twice their size, completely appalled.

It was funny how much you had agonised over you finally coming clean with your feelings towards him, and yet, all it took was a simple sentence to actually make it real.

“Yes, I did. I like you too, Mark Lee.”

Mark was frozen for a moment, then he started giggling, and then, he finished off his performance with a long sigh. He shared with you that he had been running all the way from the first floor where he had talked to Xiaojun in-person after his friend had frantically texted him regarding your encounter with him.

“I could guess that much,” you blurted out with a smile, and that was enough to ease the tension in the air. The boy let out a chuckle before his lips finally pulled into a boyish grin.

“So are we good then?”

“We’re good,” you hummed. “And if the date is okay with me, I’ll be happy to be your plus one for the wedding,” you added on a second note, and he seemed like he had just won the lottery.

“Oh gosh, I can’t believe it! I’m so happy. I thought Xiaojun had blown up everything for me,” he admitted candidly, and you couldn’t stop the laughter from bubbling up in your throat.

“I mean, if he hadn’t told me that you like me, I might not have been sure enough to bring it up myself, so I think we should thank him one day,” you pointed out and even though you knew that Mark felt the same way, he went on a whole monologue about how long he had known that he liked you (since you had comforted him in the GS25 after his lyrics had been rejected without constructive feedback), and how he had even changed his doorlock’s password to the day that you two had met, but completely forgot about it when drunk, but was too ashamed to say anything about it afterwards, so he was glad that you didn’t ask about it.

“That’s so corny… but it’s also very much something that you would do,” you admitted before you asked the boy if he wanted to have some dinner with you.

Needless to say, he was more than happy to join you, and he even said that it was the best day of his life.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this story of mine. Let me know what you think. I'm always happy to hear your feedback. 😊

Header taken from this Mark vlog.

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➳ NCT masterlist

I started writing this story before Mark's announcement to leave NCT, so I will put the story into the NCT masterlist for the time being. However, I might move it to the 'Other' masterlist that contains soloists' stories and Kdrama fics in the future, so just a heads-up!