Every day he stands in the same spot, watching people come in and out. Every day at exactly 8:00AM, he boards the subway and stands by the door on the other side. He doesn't sit, knowing his more boisterous friend prefers having the seat in the early mornings. It's not that there's no space—he lives at one of the first stops so the subway is near empty every time he gets on—he just has his reasons.

Less than ten minutes later, the doors open again and Jackson stumbles in. His snapback is pulled over his eyes, but Mark already knows they're barely open. Jackson isn't a morning person, hasn't been ever for as long as Mark's known him. But he's never too sleepy to forget to fist bump Mark everyday in greeting.

Today he even throws in a grunt that vaguely sounds like “good morning,” when he slumps down in the seat next to where Mark's standing. Mark leans back when the subway starts moving again, glancing briefly at his phone.

8:06AM.

Stop after stop people file on, quietly filling up the seats with their heads bent low focused on their phones, a newspaper, a book, or just catching a few more minutes of sleep. He moves closer to the Jackson, almost sitting on his head when people shuffle in from the door he's standing at. Only when the door closes and people have found a place to stand Mark eases back to stand against the door.

8:22AM.

This stop is Sincheon, Sincheon, the doors are on the right.

Mark doesn't look up from his phone, scrolling through his Instagram feed as people get off and others get on, he's not interested. He looks over at the ground in time to see a pair of shiny dress shoes identical to his step on the train. His eyes slowly trail up to a familiar black messenger bag, a worn Pororo strap hanging from the zipper.

He's raising his head up to see the boy with the Pororo strap brush by him to take the seat a tired looking woman just vacated. Neatly combed black hair that fell just above his eyes—crinkled into half moons with lines around the edge (cute, Mark thinks)—and a large smile on his face.

He feels like his heart's just melted.

Mark has to drag his eyes back to his phone flashing “GAME OVER” at him, blocking out the quiet laughter from across the subway car and the blinding grin on the other boy's face. He's smiling at his friend standing in front of him, a guy taller than Mark himself, with broad shoulders and a few intimidating looking ear piercings.

Sometimes the boy with the Pororo strap would pull his friend to sit down beside him and they'd chat, sometimes he would sleep on his friend's shoulder for a few minutes before their stop, sometimes he would be hunched over his phone scrolling through whatever and bobbing his head to him music (Mark wonders what he listens to; kpop? Classical music? Maybe R&B like him? Does he like foreign artists too?), and sometimes he would glance over at Mark.

Mark always flounders when it happens, as much as he denies it to himself. He finds himself quickly looking away when he makes eye contact with the boy with the Pororo strap. Jackson tends to catch him, face tinged red and looking anywhere but across from him.

When the doors open behind him and he's pressing himself up against the pole, Mark sneaks a glance at the boy with the Pororo strap to see him jab his standing friend in the stomach.

He doesn't dare look down at the boy's name tag, not for any reason other than he doesn't want to fully achieve hella creepy stalker status, name courtesy of Jackson. Instead Mark continues to sneak glances at the other boy when there's a lull in his game, liking the smile on the other boy's face.

8:30AM.

This is Sindorim, Sindorim, the doors are on your left.

Jackson wakes up on his own today, standing up next to Mark before the subway comes to a full stop. He can see his friend fixing his snapback behind him in the reflection of the door and almost reaches over to mess it up when the doors open. He has to hurry and get off, lest he wants to be shoved to the ground by the crowd of people behind him. The boy with the Pororo strap is pushed to the back of his mind when Jackson pats him hard on the back as they exit the station.

“Aw man, do I need to refill my card again?”

“Already? Didn't you put money in like last week or something?”

“I can't help it if I'm out havin' a good time!”

“How would Auntie feel if she knew her son was out frequenting Gangnam every day like some sort of delinquent?”

“Absolutely amazing cause she's not gonna know—and I do not go everyday! The only delinquent guy here is you!”

Mark rolls his eyes and pulls Jackson's snapback over his face, “time to take your hat off now,” he says as the two start walking towards their school gates. It's a sea of dark blue leading to the building up the street, students flooding into the gates. People walking in groups, others loitering around the cafes, and some rushing to the front of the crowd for who knows what, there's fifteen minutes before class officially starts.

Mark doesn't mind his school much, it's not that far from home and he doesn't have to transfer. His classes haven't been difficult with the right amount of studying put in, and he has his friends. He absentmindedly stares ahead; he's graduating this year. Mark shakes his head when his thoughts start drifting off to university and leaving his friends, not wanting to thing about the future at the moment as he's walking closer to the gates with Jackson happily rambling beside him.

“So I told Youngjae what doesn't kill you makes you stronger and—”

He doesn't catch the rest of the sentence when he looks over to the right, past all the blue. On the other side of the street is a field of gray moving towards the school not far from his own. Unintentionally he catches sight of the boy with the Pororo strap and nice nice smile, before he's lost in the crowd. It's not like Mark's being discreet when he slows down and stands on his toes, head turning left and right. When it's hopeless and he can't see anything but gray, he turns back to Jackson and regrets not being a little more subtle.

“Anything you looking for in particular?”

Mark punches him in the arm while the other boy laughs.






When Mark is at home, textbooks and highlighters strewn across his table, he launches himself on his bed and scrolls through his phone for something other than calculus to keep occupied. There are a few messages from his friends back in states, complaining to him him about how early it is and how much they wish they weren't alive right now, and Mark laughs before sending them all a cheeky sticker.

10:15PM.

He likes his timezone better.

Clicking his screen off, he sighs and flips over to his back. Mark risks a glance at his books and quickly turns over, not wanting to look at them anymore. On the bright side, at least all his immediate assignments are done, so really he has no reason to go back over to his desk. Though, the ever so studious side of him reasons that he should graduate having maintained his slightly higher than average grades, to which Mark swipes his screen on again.

He doesn't mind his school, but in all honesty there isn't anything that special about it either. He spends practically all day there, leaving his house at 7:50AM and coming back almost thirteen hours later, but Mark's happy with it. Happy seeing his friends at school that make the time go a little faster, happy goofing around the club room with Jackson and Youngjae and the rest of the dance club every other day, happy waking up at o' clock in the morning to catch the 8:00AM subway.

And the boy with the Pororo strap.

Mark sighs and presses the heel of his palms into his eyes. His 8:22AM “encounters” with the boy with the Pororo strap made him happy too, not that he would ever admit it. He isn't smitten, as much as his (ty) best friend likes to say he is.

The other boy is cute, he'll admit—honestly speaking who wouldn't find him cute? But Mark knows nothing will happen, sighing and tapping out of his game of Anipang. Aside from taking the same train to their school that happen to be in the same place. (Occasionally he sees the other boy on the way back too. He counts those as lucky days.) It's not too big of a loss once he graduates, he tells himself, stuffing his phone underneath his pillow and pulling the covers up. It would be creepy to just go up to him in the middle of the year and say “hi” to him anyway.

I'm okay with just seeing him.






8:00AM.

Today Mark barely makes the subway, forgetting his wallet on his desk and remembering halfway to the station. He runs down the stairs, jumping over the last few to reach the nearest train car before the doors closed. He's thankful there aren't many people to witness him bent over breathing heavy, fanning his face.

8:06AM.

By the time Jackson gets on, Mark has already moved to their usual train car and composed himself, calmly going through his music library. His friend pats him on the shoulder and he rolls his eyes, playfully shoving Jackson into the seat.

“Glad to see you made it,” the younger grins at him, settling his bag on his lap. Mark shot the other a message earlier as he was running home to get his wallet, and a slew of profanities and relief when he got on. In return, Jackson had “LOL'd” at him.

“Whatever,” he says, “You would've waited anyway.”

“Cause I'm the best friend of the year,” Jackson says before yawning, “but your guy wouldn't have.” Mark doesn't need to look over to know he has the biggest eating grin on his stupid face; he groans.

“I'm not going to dignify that with an answer,” he says.

“It's okay though, you made it and soon you will be reunited with you booooo—” Jackson doesn't get to finish as Mark takes his snapback and throws it back in his face. With his vision obstructed, Mark's glad Jackson can't see the red on his face.

“Oh shut up and take your nap,” he mumbles, making himself busy with his phone. He hears Jackson quietly laugh beside him and rolls his eyes. Boo, what even. He can't even understand where that came from, he can't even understand how red he got. (That's a lie, he started thinking about that cute smile again.)

8:20AM.

He leans his head against the door, staring past his out-of-focus reflection and into the darkness of the tunnel. He's tempted to take the empty seat next to Jackson and get an extra ten minutes of shut-eye in before they reach Sindorim, but he doesn't trust himself to wake up or for Jackson to wake him up. Despite the same routine for three years, Mark still isn't used to being awake and active this early in the morning.

But before he knows it, the doors behind him are opening and Mark nearly falls backward if he hadn't caught the pole in time. He hadn't even registered the approaching station announcement in his brief daze. Looking as indifferent as he can he prays in his mind none of the people getting off and the crowd waiting on the platform noticed. Here's to hoping.

A quiet giggle makes his head turn to Jackson, assuming of all people that would laugh at him, it would be Jackson. But the other boy was asleep last time he checked, and the sound is louder to his left—all he sees are little crescent moons and wrinkles looking back at him, and suddenly Mark wishes the ground would swallow him whole.

8:27AM.

Mark tells himself not to stare, to stop looking between people's heads at the boy sitting across from him. Well, at the side of his face, anyway. Today is one of the days the boy with the Pororo strap and his friend sit together side by side, chatting. It's not creepy, because the boy just happens to be in his line of sight when he lifts his head to keep his neck from cramping after looking down at his phone for so long.

Glancing down at the subway schedule on his phone, it's not long before he'll reach his stop. Same old uneventful train ride, he thinks to himself as he looks up and rolls his shoulders a bit. Mark figures one last glance before they all get off the train wouldn't hurt. (He's not in some puppy love stage, nor does he have a crush, he swears it.)

There's nothing but admiration—adoration?—for how cute the other boy is, and the way his smile lights up his whole face. Mark wonders tries to think of someone else, anyone else he knows with a smile like that. (The only person he can think of is his little baby cousin, and that brings a smile to his own face.) When his focus returns to reality and away from thoughts of his family, Mark notices two things.

One, he didn't stare off into the distance like he thought he did. And two, the boy with the Pororo strap is staring right back at him.

8:29AM.

Mark doesn't know what to do, and he's vaguely aware of how tightly he's gripping his phone. Can the boy see how red his ears are turning? Cause they feel really hot and he can probably see them, he's still staring at Mark. He figures he should just look away, pretend like nothing's happened and he wasn't caught staring like some creep, but something inside him says “hell no bruh,” and his face is cracking into a nervous smile and his arm is raised in an awkward wave.

This is Sindorim, Sindorim, the doors are on your left.



Jackson tries to pull Mark into a headlock, ruffling up his hair and whining about how he nearly missed the stop. Mark shrugs and tries to wipe the grin off his face when his best friend looks at him weird.

“It's nothing,” he says.

“Dude, you left me on the train to practically die,” Jackson replies, “nothing my . What's with you?”

Mark knows not to tell Jackson anything. Not with how excitable and loud he is. Instead he shrugs again, “It's one of those mornings where I just drift from here to there, I guess I forgot.” Maybe with a vague enough answer, he'll drop it.

Like hell Mark will tell Jackson how the boy with the Pororo strap smiled—teeth and all! A real grin—smiled at him and gave him a small wave back as the train stopped. He hadn't even realized he forgot to wake Jackson up until, well until Jackson grabbed him from the back.

So maybe things weren't totally uneventful today.






8:00AM.

He made sure to tuck his wallet in his pocket when he woke up that morning, not a fan of running back and forth his house and the station. Mark sighs against the subway doors as soon as they close, running a hand down his face.

He stayed up late last night, catching some of his friends for once and they ended up chatting until the wee hours of the morning. Mark almost forgot college application season was still going on, having gotten his entrance exam out of the way a few months ago. Talking about university made him nervous, remembering the feeling of being completely new again. (Just not to country, not anymore, his friend joked. But Mark still didn't feel too relieved.) They didn't talk about it too much, instead updating each other about their daily life and wow finally a in-and-out near his neighborhood and he's not even there for it.

Jackson claps his hand on Mark's shoulder as he gets on, sliding into his usual seat beside the older boy; no hat today.


8:21AM.

This is Sincheon, Sincheon, the doors are on your right.

Mark gets a strange feeling in his chest; the hairs on the back of neck standing up. It feels like he has butterflies in his stomach and he doesn't know why; not when the doors open behind him, not when a pair of shiny black dress shoes walk by him, not when a familiar Pororo strap brushes past him. Not until the boy is staring straight at him from across the train car.

Oh. That's why.

He hopes he's not turning red or making a weird face because awkward potato is the last impression he wants to make on the boy with the Pororo strap. (He's supposed to be a cool and suave upperclassman...assuming the other is an underclassman. Yes, yes, Mark's the cool upperclassman and he's the cute underclassman until proven otherwise.) He quietly clears his throat and manages a smile, chanting pleasedontthinkimacreep in his mind over and over again. Jackson would be rolling on the floor in stitches if he saw him right now.

The heavens must've been smiling down at him or something because the boy with the Pororo strap actually waves at him. Like an actual wave, a physical acknowledgment of Mark's existence. Praise the heavens!

They both turn back to their own things just as quickly as their exchange, he to his phone and the other to his friend. Honestly there isn't much he's doing, scrolling through his Facebook feed, not really focusing on any of the posts. He can see the reflection of his dumb goofy smiling staring up at him on his screen, but he can't control the corner of his lips from quirking upward. Mark's not concerned with how he looks, he knows everyone else on the subway with him is too immersed in their own phones to notice some random high schooler grinning like an idiot.

After half a year, he thinks, he noticed me.


23:17PM.

Forty something minutes to midnight finds Mark in front of his bathroom mirror, practicing. He smiles, first with his mouth closed—he looked like he was in pain, so next—then with teeth. And well, if he ever became a serial killer he'd know what the police would use as a mugshot. Mark groans, running a hand down his face, why can't his face just look right for once.

He clears his throat, “I got this,” and poses. He stands in front of his mirror and smiles, making sure not too much of his gums are visible and not too much teeth are showing, and his eyes haven't gone full on Pokemon Brock style. His hair can be worked on the next morning, and his outfit never has to change so he's good for that. Mark tries a wave, but quickly puts his hand down. No, that's too weird. Smiling and waving in a train car when the boy with the Pororo strap is going to be standing literally five feet away and not going anywhere? No way, he's not going to make a fool of himself.

So Mark tries again with a head nod, a smaller smile, no teeth, and slightly hooded eyes.

Okay, no, he definitely looked like a creeper trying to pick someone up. Just go ahead and put his face in Korea's most sleazy guys: high school edition! He pulls at his cheeks and groans again, his mouth stretching in odd directions. There's no way he's gonna think I'm cool.

He wants to make a good impression, and actually be able to say something to the other boy. After finally getting his attention, he just has to do something about. Cause that's what you do when you have a cru—

Mark pounds his chest, letting out a small cough, and moving his focus to his current predicament instead. He tries a shy smile, minimal teeth and his eyes slightly squinted, the one that says hi-I-want-to-be-friends, but Mark thinks his face looks more like hello-may-I-take-your-order. God, why is this so hard, he thinks to himself. He hasn't even gotten up to greetings yet!


23:43PM.

“Good morning.”

“Goooood morning!”

“Morning!”

“Good morning!”

“Goo—”

“Mark?”

“GooooaaaAAhhH, What?!”

“Uh. What are you doing?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all, why are you awake?”

“I need the bathroom? But if you're busy doing...whatever you're doing I can, uh, come back later.”

“N-no, I'm cool. It's all good, give me a sec.”

“Ooookay, then.”

“Yeah okay, night Joey!”

“Good night?”






8:19AM.

Mark's standing against the door per usual, eyes flitting from one area of the train to the other and his hand is stuffed inside his pants pocket, playing around with the loose change from when he bought a pack of gum last night. He's nervous, trying not to look at the time or outside the window. Because he knows, he knows soon he'll see the light from the station and the doors will open at exactly 8:22AM, and then the boy with the Pororo strap will walk in.

The routine's been the same for the past six months, but today, today Mark has confidence. He's definitely going to finally do something and maybe, just maybe things will happen.

He tries not to run his hand through his hair that he spent twenty minutes that morning trying to style properly. (He'll fight anyone that says it doesn't look any different; his bangs are more swept to the side to show off his amazing eyes.)

8:22AM.

This is Sincheon, Sincheon, the doors are on your right.

He plays it cool, waiting for the throng of people to clear out and settle themselves in the train car before looking up from his phone.

It's not difficult to spot the other boy, his smile practically lit up the car. (That might be Mark's bias talking, but who else is going to hear his thoughts aside from him, right?) Luckily it doesn't take long for the boy with the Pororo strap to turn his head and catch his eyes, sending a light shock throughout his body. It was like Mark's mind made everything play in slow motion; watching the other boy move to face him, that brief moment his eyes are downcast so his eyelashes make pretty shadows atop his cheeks before shaking his bangs from his eyes makes his breath catch in his throat, and watching that perfect smile grow even wider when their eyes met—Mark's sure his heart just stopped beating.

Tell-tale signs of a big fat crush he chooses to ignore, and forgetting the twenty minutes he spent in front of the mirror practicing how to smile without looking like a complete psycho, his faces moves on it own to an expression Mark himself isn't even sure of. But the boy with the Pororo strap doesn't seem to mind, his eyes disappearing into those little moons Mark has a fondness for, and turns back to his friend. (Who, thankfully for him, doesn't seem to acknowledge their little “conversation.”)



The smile is still on his face even as he shakes Jackson awake, not even feeling the punch on the shoulder for not so gently waking his best friend up.



17:47PM.

He realizes it in the middle of drafting his essay about some Classic written by some dead French guy for his [English] Literature class. His hand abruptly stills in writing as he stares at his messy hangul in horror.

He had totally forgotten to say good morning. Mark folds his arms across his paper and desk, hoping he can bury himself in his own arms for the rest of his life and groans. Missed opportunities. He confused the out of his brother and locked himself in the bathroom for nearly an hour to forget the two words he psyched himself up to say. Mark thinks he needs an award for forgetting the important things that could possible change his life for the better. He sighs, and his eyes cross when he tries to read what he wrote with his face practically two inches away from his paper. When did this guy move higher on his priority ladder?

The guy next to him, a sleepy looking boy named Min Yoongi, pats him on the back and Mark barely hears him say “Me too dude, me too.” He groans again.



21:45PM.

Fresh out of the shower and full from a late dinner, Mark plops himself down on his bed. He's vaguely aware of his phone vibrating every three seconds on his desk—it's probably just Jackson recounting the days events for him, or just being Jackson and spamming him for the hell of it. He thinks things could've been worse, that he and the boy with the Pororo strap never acknowledged each other ever again, or that the boy with the Pororo strap thought he was a total creep.

A smile was practically a greeting, like his teeth were saying good morning for him or something.

Mark rolls over, hands covering his face in embarrassment because what kind of excuse did he just come up with? His teeth were saying good mo—just. He needs to get his game on.






Things didn't go quite as planned the next day, or the day after that. It's not that Mark forgets to say “good morning,” but it's the lack of opportunity. Or at least that's what he reasons to himself while he walks to class. If Jackson noticed anything off about him, he doesn't say anything. Mark is thankful, he doesn't think he can handle his best friend when he's excited. And believe him, Jackson always gets excited especially when it comes to Mark and his love life, or lack of love life rather. He already knows what Jackson would say if he ever told him about his plans to subtly flirt (or get to the level of flirty), “Just like gently slam him into the wall and whisper sweet nothings with that sultry deep voice of yours. Go forth and woo him, Marky.”

He's willing to bet money those will be the exact words to come from the younger boy's mouth if he ever asked. Maybe when pigs fly.

He sighs and looks out the window, wondering what it would feel like to lay on one of those clouds. Today is Friday, which means the weekend. Normally Mark would be excited, two days where he's not stuck in the same building for eleven plus hours and free to go to the skate park, but he can't stop thinking of it as two days where he's not taking the train.

The boy with the Pororo strap made his mind a mess. Strangely enough, Mark doesn't mind it one bit.






8:00AM.

All weekend he tried to push the boy with the Pororo strap to the back of his mind. For half a year Mark had no interaction with him whatsoever, but as soon as they smiled at each other, it felt like something in him woke up.

But he isn't satisfied.

He leans against the door, head lolling with every shake of the train car. It's just a simple crush, as much as he doesn't want to admit to having something as childish as a crush. But Mark is smart, he knows the way his face flushes and the butterflies in his stomach aren't from heat or breakfast that went down wrong.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, he checks the time. He'll try again today, tomorrow, however long it takes.

(that's enough to keep him smiling, even when Jackson gives him a weird look as he gets on the train later.)


8:23AM.

This is Sincheon, Sincheon, the doors are on your right.

As soon as the doors open Mark's pressed against Jackson's seat, his elbow barely grazing the side of Jackson's head. Not that the other boy really notices, today he's not asleep for once and instead immersed in a new cat game his friend told him about.

The huge cat cannon is pretty cute, he wants to say to his best friend, and poke at his screen to mess him up, but then he gets That feeling again and has to tear his eyes away. The first thing he sees is gray, before the pale blue of a Pororo strap steals his attention away. (Well, more the owner than the actual strap.) He hears Jackson snort beside him, and Mark doesn't have to look over to know where to punch.

He's ready this time, he's so ready. Mark had a whole weekend to think about how to approach the boy with the Pororo strap and he's not going to let anything stand in his way. He's about to open his mouth, even with the four to five foot distance between them, he's going to do it.

So it's a shame the boy with the Pororo strap only glances at him briefly, not without sending him a small smile, before burying his face back into the book Mark hadn't noticed the other carried on. Feeling his hope deflate, he sighs and leans against the pole, blankly staring over at the boy's direction. His friend, the intimidating one with the cheekbones, has his nose in a book too. Squinting his eyes, Mark makes out the words “statistics” and “physics,” and he has to turn his head away. Gross. They even rhymed.

He glances over at Jackson, just to make sure he's not about to get caught staring, before he looks back at the pair sitting across from him. The boy with the Pororo strap is fully concentrated on the physics book, Mark can see his furrowed brows beneath his bangs. It's also not hard to notice the light bags underneath his eyes, from studying he assumes. His friend is faring no better; Mark knows the zombie look all too well. They lean against each other, whispering and pointing to pages in their book every now and then, asking each other for help. It's a little cute, especially when the boy with the Pororo strap juts his lip out in confu—

It takes Jackson digging his finger into Mark's side to get him to snap him out of it.


8:33AM.

As everyone's tapping out of the station and Mark is pushing Jackson to the gate—making sure he's not crashing into anyone because that moron is still playing his game—he catches the boy with the Pororo strap walking through the gate next to him, his friend right behind him.

As he's pressing his transit card to the touch pad, their eyes meet and Mark can't help but send him an encouraging smile and a thumbs up. And maybe he looks briefly at the intimidating friend too, since they both seem to have exams. (What can he say, he's a friendly guy.)

Sadly he has no time to stick around and admire the other boy's cute surprised face, not when Jackson is calling for him, not even looking up from his phone. Mark mouths a quick “good luck” before running off towards Jackson and pulling him out of the station.

He didn't miss the tired looking grin on the boy with the Pororo's straps face, or the amused look the intimidating friend gave the other boy. If Mark stayed a little longer, maybe he would've caught the boy with the Pororo strap lightly shoving his friend's shoulder with a dust of pink on those cute cheeks.

But Mark's happy enough with having seen the moons he's so fond of.






8:17AM.

“, , ,” Mark fumbles with the buttons on his uniform while trying to pull on his pants, ignoring his vibrating phone. Though he should be thankful, it's what woke him up.

Considering his alarm didn't.


He gets to school nearly 40 minutes late, and makes a note to ask Peniel for what he missed later. Sitting in his second class, Mark can't help but think it's not going to be a good day. Judging by the dark clouds in the sky, the universe agrees with him too.



Mark doesn't see the boy with the Pororo strap today.






8:00AM.

He shakes his umbrella off one more time before stepping onto the train, sitting down in the first seat he sees as soon as the doors open. Mark's vaguely aware of breaking routine, but he's way too tired to care this morning. He accidentally stayed up too late skyping with some of his friends in the states, and consequently stayed up even longer to finish his homework. If anyone asked him why he skyped for so long, Mark wouldn't be able to answer. Just guys being guys, or something. So he tosses his wet umbrella under his seat and tugs his bag off to put on his lap.

His eyes can't stay open, and Charlie Puth's voice is definitely putting him to sleep. And who is Mark to stop the Sandman's will? He relaxes further in his seat and leans his head on the side, dozing off.


Mark's jostled awake by something hitting his thigh—not too lightly, he might add. “Well good morning to you too,” he grumbles in English under his breath, eyes still bleary. He stretches his arms out in front of him to avoid hitting other people much unlike his neighbor, who still hasn't apologized, he thinks mildly bothered.

Instead of “sorry,” he hears a quiet chuckle from beside him and an equally as quiet reply. “Good morning,” whispered in slightly accented English. It makes Mark look up from his feet, right into Jackson's face. Jackson, who's sitting across from him with the most disgusting grin on his face. His jaw is slack and his mouth is open in a probably unattractive manner, and he doesn't move until Jackson motions to his right with his head.

When Mark turns his head, well, he knows who was laughing at him at least.

The boy with the Pororo strap isn't facing him, but Mark can see him staring from the corners of his eyes. The other boy realizes too, his eyes crinkling into practically just lines as he tries to muffle his laughter behind his hand. Just when did it become 8:22AM without him knowing? He can't bring himself to look away, not until the boy drops his hand and clears his throat, eyes on the window opposite of them.

“U-uhm,” Mark suddenly sits up a little straighter, hoisting his bag a little higher on his lap. He just hopes his face isn't as red as he thinks it is. “Good morning,” he says properly this time, looking off to the side. (But not that off, he doesn't want to see Jackson's face right now.)

“Good morning,” the boy with the Pororo strap says, “again.” Mark's not looking beside him, but he can practically hear the smile in the other's voice. That extremely soft and calming voice; Mark's beginning to feel hot even with all the humidity in the air.

8:29AM.

This is Sindorim, Sindorim, the doors are on your left.

Mark spares a quick glance at the boy next to him before getting, hiding his eyes under his bangs so he looks a little more inconspicuous with his “observing.” The boy with the Pororo strap is leaning against his intimidating friend, who seems to be giving him a few extra seconds of sleep before shaking the boy awake.

By then Mark's already out the door, ignoring Jackson's laughter and dodging his arm. Luckily the rain stopped while they were on the train.

Well, at least he got the “good morning” out.



“Wait,” Halfway into his fifth period, Mark notices his bag is a little lighter than it was that morning. “You've got to be kidding me.” Maybe Jackson will wait for him when his class ends and they can share one umbrella. Or maybe he'll just pray it'll stop raining like it did that morning, the odds seem better with this solution.






20:55PM

Mark stands at the entrance of his school, staring into the night. Much to his displeasure Jackson had left already, the rain didn't stop and instead got harder, and he had to stay behind a little to get his paper checked over by his professor. The last one isn't as terrible as the other ones, but in those ten minutes he spent getting the stupid essay revised, most of the student population left leaving him no one to tag along with. It makes him even more frustrated he left his umbrella on the train. Plus, now he has to buy a new one. (Not that they were expensive, he just didn't want to have to actually go out of his way and buy one. Then his mom probably has a spare somewhere.)

He sighs and pushes his hair away from his face, the air is still so humid even in the evening. There's a convenience store not to far from the school, but it would still require him to step out from this dry place into the rain. Even if he ran, Mark thinks he would still get soaked. And he really doesn't want to ruin his clothes. He's definitely not about to spend his night doing laundry.

So he just sighs again and scrolls through his phone, wondering if his sister would come pick him up. Come on, be the good older sibling. Mark thinks about it, finger hovering over the call button, but then decides not to. She would probably call him a baby and tell him to run. And he's about to, since he doesn't really have any other options.

“Excuse me,” a voice snaps his attention away from his phone. A light blue umbrella blocks his view of the person, but with the light from the school behind him, Mark can make out black dress shoes similar to his, and a pair of pants also similar to his. Only, the other's are a cool gray color.

And suddenly maybe staying behind wasn't such a tragedy.

Everything starts moving in slow motion again; the rate at which the umbrella is shifting upwards has his chest clenching in anticipation. He doesn't know if it's the suspense or the fact that this is reallly happening that's killing him. It might be both, but once the pretty blue is out of the way to reveal an even prettier face, Mark knows he's dead.

He opens his mouth to close it soon after, repeating the process maybe five more times before the boy with the Pororo strap smiles up at him from the base of the steps. Mark wishes he could say that calmed him down a little, that he didn't think he was a complete idiot (just yet), but he is just a normal guy. A normal guy with weaknesses to bright smiles and even brighter eyes.

“You left this on the train this morning,” he says, breaking the silence that settled between them. Lucky for Mark, because words did not seem to be coming to his head at the moment. It takes a little while for it to sink in—the boy with the Pororo strap took his forgotten umbrella and actually purposefully sought him out. Is he being punk'd? Is this real life? Is he still breathing?

Mark's gaping at the boy, and he knows he is cause his mouth is starting to get dry with all the wind passing through. He tries his best to snap out of it as quickly as he can, going down the steps to grab his umbrella.

“Uhm, I, uh,” he manages to say. “Thank you.” It comes out a little breathier than expected, his hand holding the umbrella drops to his side while he continues to stare. There's an easy smile on the boy's face, like he didn't just go out of his way to walk over to Mark's school in the pouring rain at 21:00PM on a Wednesday night. Especially since they barely know each other, and what were the chances they would meet again?

“How..?” Mark starts to ask, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “Not that I'm not grateful—you really saved me from running in the rain—but..you know,” he makes a vague hand gesture, trying to express the lack of familiarity and relationship between them.

The way the boy with the Pororo strap makes him forget all about the rain.

“Is there a reason to be nice to other people?”

“No..no, I guess not.”

“But to be honest, I wasn't expecting you to be here...” the boy trails off, looking at the ground shyly. Mark thinks his eyes are playing tricks on him when he sees light pink appear on the other's cheeks. (If Mark wasn't smitten before, he definitely is now.) He remains silent, waiting for the boy with the Pororo strap to go on.

“I was planning to just give it to the office or something..but I just realized I could've just given it to you tomorrow, right?” Mark watches the boy laugh to himself at his silly mistake. But I'm glad you came, he wants to say. I want to see you after school like this every day, he thinks.

“You have a nice smile,” is what he blurts out instead. “Wait, , I—forget that!” His face heats up almost instantly and his hands are waving back and forth in front of him as if they could physically make his words disappear. How could this happen to him. In the end he groans and covers his eyes with his eyes. “Sorry,” he mumbles, very very embarrassed.

He's too scared to look at the other boy. Mark's half expecting him to walk away and not look back, call him weird or give him a dirty look, and definitely not start laughing. It's a beautiful sound, angelic in fact, and he would appreciate it a lot more if his ears weren't ringing from his brain imploding. He peeks through his fingers to see the boy with the Pororo strap bent over holding his stomach, eyes hardly visible anymore with his mouth open wide in amusement.

“Oh my god, I'm so sorry,” he apologizes, eventually breaking out into little chuckles of his own. Because Mark Tuan's a big dumb idiot.

“Yours isn't so bad yourself,” the other says, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “I didn't think you were such a smooth talker, Mr. Tuan.”

“It's been a long day,” Mark sighs, shaking his head at the way his surname sounds coming from the other boy's mouth. “And I prefer to be called Mark, thanks. Mr. Tuan makes it sound like I'm still in class.”

“Well I knew that,” the boy with the Pororo strap teases, rolling his eyes. “We both have nametags for a reason, don't we? Plus how did you think I was going to drop off your umbrella at this office?” He laughs, muffling it with the back of his hand.

“Uh,”Mark so intelligently responds. He had a point, but Mark was kinda hoping he would introduce himself so Mark would feel much less like a weirdo for not looking at the boy's nametag instead of referring to him as the boy with the Pororo strap in his head all the time. “Right.”

“You're a strange guy, Mr. Tuan.”

“Is that any way to be talking to your elder?” He quips back, remembering the Physics book the other was reading last week. Physics is a second year course.

“Oh my dearest apologies, hyung. I'm flattered you know what year I am just by looking at me.” The look in his eyes are teasing, and Mark can't help but smile. Talking is ways more fun than admiring from afar.

“Tuan Mark, third year. Thanks for returning my umbrella,” he says, extending his hand and grinning.

“Park Jinyoung, second year. It was my pleasure,” the hand that clasps Mark's is warm, not like the uncomfortable humidity in the air, but warm like the sun. He decides maybe he wouldn't mind if the boy with the Po—Jinyoung, he corrects himself, never lets go.

Quicker than Mark would've liked, Jinyoung pulls away to take a look at the rain. The smile's still on his face and Mark's crush is drop kicking his heart into his throat.

“I think I should head back now,” he says when he turns back to look at Mark. Jinyoung starts to take a step back, out from school grounds and away from Mark. It makes the him feel like a bubble's been popped, and it saddens him just a little. (The other part of his is glad he's maybe reached first name basis and talking level of friendship now.)

“Are you coming too?” Jinyoung's voice snaps him out of his little reverie, not realizing the other boy is now practically at the school gates. Waiting. Waiting for him. “Unless standing at school in the rain is your thing, cause I won't be the one to come between a boy and his hobbies.”

Mark grins and opens his umbrella, walking out towards Jinyoung. Jinyoung, what a nice name.

“Yah, what kind of respect is that?”














21:56PM.

Are you still up?

Nothing, u should go to bed soon!!!

not until u do

<3

yes ^^

goodnight jinyoungie ^^

Mark smiles and puts his phone on his desk. “Goodnight,” he whispers to no one in particular.























8:07AM.

Mark's never been so thankful for air conditioning on public transport more than his entire life. Mornings are supposed to cooler than the rest of the day, but today the universe decided to show no mercy. So when Jackson gets on and brushes their bare arms together, Mark almost shrivels up and dies. Sticky, sticky, sticky.

He's about to text his boyfriend and ask him to bring a bucket of ice for him when Jackson pulls Mark down into the seat next to him.

“What the hell,” he says, yanking his wrist from Jackson's grasp. No matter how cool the air conditioning is, Jackson just came from outside and he's hot. Not hot like Jinyoung, but hot like the gross summer heat. Jackson is not Hot.

“So I asked him out,” he says. “And he said yes!”

“That's great,” Mark replies, not looking at his best friend. Jackson asks people out all the time, he though the younger boy knew he stopped caring after the first few months of high school.

“Right, we can totes double date now.” Now that, that got Mark's attention.

“A double what.”

“You heard me. Double. Date.”

“Please don't tell me you mean—”

“Hell yeah I do.”

“You didn't.”

“I did.”

“Why does the universe hate me?”

“Cheer up baby, or maybe I should let our boy Jinyoung do that.”

“Please don't ever call me baby. Ever, even when I'm dead. Even when you're dead.”

“Yeah, that was gross I take it back. I only got one baby in my life now.”

“Oh my god, end me.”

“There, there Marky. Not all our love lives can be as glamorous as mine.”

“I'm going to tell Jaebum you kept a picture of Dark Magician Girl in your wallet until you were 15 claiming she brought you good luck.”

“Well, I suppose it's better coming from you now than ten years later at our wedding. Gotta get things out in the open in the beginning, right?”

“You're insufferable.”

“Double dates, man. Double dates.”


8:22AM.

This is Sincheon, Sincheon, the doors are on your right.

Mark smiles, and gets ready to meet Jinyoung.

“Good morning!”

what the hell is this why am i posting this and i did not go over this at all oops

(just wondering did anyone even look at lesson one/ch6 lmaooo idk if it's because i uploaded two things at once or not i was just wondering)