Turku, 1827

Summer’s in Finland are light.

Even when the night were to blanket the sky and lull the people to sleep, the sun was a constant calming presence. It settles beneath the horizon, burning away the darkness into shades of pink or lilac one day, and bursts of fire orange the next.

Barrick Nieminen wasn’t one to sleep often, instead his nights were filled with the odd, unreliable sparks of inspiration and the occasional cup of tea. On Summer nights however he’d take a large piece of paper and his slated pencil, and spend the early mornings drawing the view from his porch. His home was settled upon a small hill in what was once Finland’s capital, sketching the lines of the houses below, and the Aura river.

Barrick was an architect, barely in his own right, he had only graduated as an apprentice last year. However, he had always felt a sway to the arts, to capturing the world in all it’s beauty, but Barrick's passion wasn’t in painting, or drawing - there was always something unsatisfying to him about mimicking life.

So instead he drew a path towards building, to cultivating, and morphing. If he wouldn’t capture the world, he would create it.

At the age of twenty, of independence and fiery passion, Barrick believed he could do anything. For if he wanted to build, to act as God’s hand and grow this city from the ground up, he believed with all his heart he could, he would.

By all his right, he would create a name for himself. He was going to be a creator, and the future would sing his name in praise.

But if only Barrick knew that to build, you must first destroy.

Seoul, 2016

Mark didn’t live in a flashy apartment building like Youngjae did. He was too fond of the ground.

Even if the university offered to pay for his accommodation, Mark insisted on somewhere homely, somewhere with a garden for definite. After moving so often growing up, Mark began to cling to the idea of home more so than building one for himself.

So he lives as a tenant now in a large home built for a family but hollowed out, nothing but furniture and dust filling out the lifeless rooms and corridors. It’s owned by an elderly woman, Lee Insook, who had enough of cleaning out rooms that belonged to no one and cooking meals for one too many.

It has become his sort of haven here in Seoul. The front garden is a sea of colour, flower vines and brushes overflow from their soil beds and cling to everything they can. Rose bushes grow wild against the bricks of the house, their colours vibrant now in the sun, blotches of pink and red flourishing. They’re accompanied by the disarray army of tulips, pansies, and petunias.

There’s an aging wooden bench that sits just to the right of the front gate completely drowned in bluebird vines. The blue-lilac flowers hang to the grains of the wood as their vines twist and tighten through the gaps rendering the bench frozen almost, like a painting.

It’s the scent of the garden however, that is both sweet and suffocating that makes Mark half smile the moment he steps in through the gate. It brings him the aching need to breathe, breathe clear air, but it also washes away the thoughts that plague him for a moment, so sometimes he just stands still at the front door, breathing but not really, until eventually he turns the handle into the house.

“Is that you Mark?” Insook calls out from the kitchen. There’s the sound of food sizzling and Insook aggressively scraping a spatula against a pan.

“It’s me,” Mark replies, settling his shoulder bag by the entrance and slipping out of his shoes. “Who else would it be? Expecting someone?”

Insook looks over her shoulder, revealing her permanent scowl encompassed by wrinkles. She sort of reminds Mark of an angry raisin, only Mark doesn’t like raisins, he likes Insook.

“No, but it’s comforting to know it’s someone I know walking up behind me,” She says and returns back to butchering the slices of beef in the pan before her.

Mark chuckles a little as he goes to roll up his sleeves, “You’re the type to ask ‘who’s there’ in a horror movie, aren’t you, Ahjumma?”

Insook makes a little huffing noise and shrugs her shoulders as she does when she doesn’t have a single clue what Mark is talking about. The two then continue to set the table, Insook placing the sides and dishes into small plates, whilst Mark fetches the chopsticks and fills bowls of rice from the cooker.

They settle onto the dining table with comfort and a day’s worth of fatigue, and begin to eat.

“The dark circles beneath your eyes are atrocious,” Insook starts after neatly swallowing a mouthful of rice and reaching for her cup of water.

“You noticed?”

Insook coughs and quickly grabs a napkin to pat at , “That was a good one.”

“That wasn’t a joke, Ahjumma,” Mark whines and slaps his palm to his forehead.

“But it was funny.”

Mark opens his mouth but it seems to falter on him, “I...just had a long week.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Insook asks, placing a piece of meat into Mark’s bowl. “Not that I need to ask, you’ll tell me anyway if you want.”

“Why do you sound so tired of me today, Ahjumma?”

“You’re a tiring person Mark,” She says bluntly and goes to pick at some bean sprouts. “But I am a tired person, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“Are you saying we’re meant for each other? Because I think that’s what you’re saying.” Mark nods, shovelling the spoonful into his mouth. Insook gives him a look and he returns it with a rice-full smile.

Insook simply sighs and continues on with her meal while Mark finds some trouble swallowing down his mouthful. After what felt like years of chewing and a series of odd sounds coming from his stomach, Mark finally settles down with a large chug of his water and a contemplating look at Insook.

“You don’t have to force yourself here Mark,” Insook speaks first, surprising him. “You’re not naturally so high spirited, it’s okay.”

Mark blinks rapidly, a little speechless, he tries to conjure up the words to respond but there really wasn’t a response for that.

“Mark, eat.” She demands but Mark’s already lost his appetite.

“Ahjumma,” Mark starts, his fingers skimming the edge of his cup. “What do you do when someone asks for your help but you don’t want to give it?”

Insook looks up at Mark for a brief moment then looks down in thought, “You give it to them.”

“What?”

“You give them your help.”

“But-”

Insook tuts then, a sort of authoritative shadow seems to overtake her and she stares at Mark with a fine glare. “You know what’s harder than helping someone, boy? It’s asking for it.”

Mark the inside of his teeth. “What if you shouldn’t help them? What if it’ll do more harm than good?”

“Abandoning someone is possibly the worst harm you could do.”

Mark twitches then, his chopsticks almost clattering out of his hand but he tightens his grip at the last second. With a heavy sigh, possibly the heaviest sigh he has managed to conjure yet, Mark settles back into his chair and simply nods to himself.

“Okay, let’s end this lecture with a simple question,” Mark says from the podium. Today he was placed in a rather large lecture hall, where the seats leaned upwards and the students looked as if they were going to tumble and fall upon him at any moment.

“Professor, every time you say that we know for definite it’s not going to be a simple question,” Kunpimook, an international student from Thailand, sighs from the front and ignites a wave of laughter throughout the hall.

Mark chuckles along with them, the soft sound quickly lost amongst the sound of the students. He raises his hands and indicates for them to settle down, which eventually they do, the noise quickly trickling down to the last whisper.

“Okay, okay,” Mark claps and makes his way to the podium to lean against it. “I’m curious as to what you lot think makes up a person? What makes a person individual, their insides? Their outside?”

“Isn’t it both?” Someone shouts out from the back.

“Both? Physical appearance can’t count,” A girl from the side shakes her head. “What if you get plastic surgery? Suddenly you’re a different person?”

There’s a chorus of hmm’s then and Mark feels the side of his lip quirk upwards.

“Isn’t it your personality then?” Another girl from the back calls out, Mark recognises the bright blonde hair belonging to Mihyun.

“So what makes up your personality then?” Mark shoots back, and quickly holds back a burst of laughter as a series of groans erupts.

“Your experience? Your memories?” Mihyun replies quickly with a look of triumphant. She was one of the brightest in his class, and Mark wasn’t disappointed. He nods at her approvingly.

“I don’t get it…” Someone drawls from the other side of the hall.

Mark claps his hands together and starts a contemplating pace. “Mihyun’s thought process is correct. What makes a person is essentially their experience, and our memories are what hold our experience. What you learn in life, what happens in your life, how it makes you feel essentially shapes the person you become. That’s why people are ever-changing, you’re constantly growing, learning, experiencing.”

“Age is nothing but a number!” Someone jokes and Mark chuckles.

“Exactly! Ignorance is also a part of you, a lack of knowledge and understanding, even a lack of empathy makes you who you are. Which is why sometimes we find the older generation almost childish as we grow closer to them.” Mark explains, his eyes peering around the lecture hall.

“But isn’t our memory unreliable? Didn’t you say once that we could alter our memories? Believe something that was never reality? Doesn’t that affect who we become too?” Kunpimook asks, his chin settled idly into his hand.

“Yes and no,” Mark begins. “We don’t remember everything, it’s impossible. Essentially our brain stores away the memories we don’t need anymore to make up for new ones, more important ones. But just because we don’t remember the specific memory doesn’t mean our brains don’t remember the experience we received from them.
Think about it like this, we all know lying is bad, right?”

There’s a series of nods that goes across the room. “Right, someone must have taught us that lying is bad, it’s a social construct. It wasn’t like we were born to know lying was bad, but rather we learnt growing up and being told by others that lying hurts others, that it is immoral and we shouldn’t do it. Now I don’t know about you guys but I can’t remember who taught me lying was bad, but I still know it is. Now that’s become a part of me, the moral obligation to not lie makes up a tiny fraction of me now.”

“So what makes a person is their experience, and how our body or brain remembers it?” Mihyun calls out.

“Yes, in the simplest of ways.”

“So...what happens one day if you get knocked out and lose all your memories?”

“Oooo...now that is another topic for another day,” Mark looks to his watch then. “Let’s continue this discussion next time okay?” The class erupts in huffs and dissatisfied look as they rise from their seats and start exiting the hall. Mark holds back a quirk of a smile as he packs away his laptop and slings his bag across his shoulder.

As Mark makes a plan to leave, he looks up to find Jinyoung still in his seat. Mark tended to be last one to leave a class, but these days he’s accompanied by Jinyoung, who stays settled in the back of the class, waiting patiently. He almost seems too still sometimes, his eyes frozen and unblinking as if he weren’t here anymore but exploring planes far, far away.

Mark walks up the steps of the hall slowly, staring at Jinyoung’s still form. His back is straight, and his hands are up on the desk, clasped together. He’s wearing a flannel shirt and jeans today, which is a severe improvement from the ruff looking jumper and jogging bottoms he’d been sporting for the last couple of days. It was nice to see some colour on him, even if his face was drained of it.

He takes the seat just in front of Jinyoung and settles his chin into his palm. Jinyoung’s eyes barely even flicker, like a television on pause, he sits perfectly still, nothing but the low hum of his breathing indicating he was more alive than marble.

“Jinyoung,” Mark calls out softly, and Jinyoung blinks once before his shoulders give out on him. His eyes turn to look at Mark and then Jinyoung is here.

“Professor,” Jinyoung smiles and leans back into his seat. “Has the lecture ended already?”

“You know, it’s nice you decided to arrive on time and all but it’s kind of pointless if you aren’t really here.”

Jinyoung smiles a little and looks down at his hands, they weren’t grey today. “Here,” He echoes to himself, and then he looks up at Mark. “Well, I mean here is pretty boring, can’t help it.”

“Here is where you’re meant to be, no matter how detached you may feel,” Mark responds, settling back into the desk, he’s looking up at Jinyoung with concentration, noting all the fine details of his features and the slight movements of his face.

Jinyoung doesn’t really react to that, instead he purses his lips in thought and scratches the back of his neck.

“What were you thinking about just then?”

Jinyoung looks up at that and offers Mark a mischievous grin, “I wasn’t thinking Professor, I was remembering.” He says the words in a whisper, as if he were protecting a precious secret.

“Tell me about it,” Mark presses, leaning his head into his palm. “You looked like you were enjoying it.”

“I was,” Jinyoung replies quickly. “Which is odd.”

“Why is it odd?”

“Because no one I remember being ever seemed to have a happy life.” Jinyoung says, his eyes flickering back down to his hands. “They only seemed to suffer.”

“People don’t have happy lives or sad lives...life is just filled with happy and sad moments, some more than others maybe.”

“More than, I guess,” Jinyoung says softly. Mark watches the twist of his lips as they turn up a little, and the sort of innocent look of a child that seems to encompass his face. “But this one was...warm. I was a child, in Nigeria, I was with some friends playing football. That’s it, really..but it’s odd, you know, that I could understand what others were saying- what I was saying, and how familiar it all felt. Even though I shouldn’t be able to understand Nigerian, or even know what Nigeria looks like, I did, and I didn’t, like I knew but I’ve never really experienced it.”

“Like you felt something burn you but there’s nothing on your skin,” Mark nods absentmindedly.

“Yes…” Jinyoung half smiles, tilting his head slightly. “You always know how to put it into words.”

Mark takes a deep breath and gets up from his seat, “Well, my mother always did want me to study literature.”

“Really?” Jinyoung get’s up too, slinging on his torn shoulder bag and following Mark out of the lecture hall. “Do you write?”

“No, but my mother does, she’s an author,” Mark says as he pushes through a pair of double doors and enters into one of many of the universities corridors. The large lecture hall belonged to the main campus, unsurprisingly, everything had to be extravagant here.

“Oh, what does she write?”

“Novels mostly, like teen romance stuff,” Mark says as the two of them make their way down the hallway. “It’s kind of popular stuff in the west.” Jinyoung nods, listening, until something catches his eye and he visibly stiffens.

Mark watches him from the corner of his eye, he’d imagine if he could, Jinyoung would cower into his hoody right about now. Instead, Jinyoung takes a sleeve covered hand and down at his fringe as if it’d suddenly grow longer and hide him away into the shadows.

“Why do you look so uncomfortable all of a sudden-” Mark peers down the hallway and sees Im Jaebum walking in their direction, he’s got a sort of permanent angry look on his face that reminds Mark of Insook. Mark only recognises him after Youngjae’s awfully detailed briefing session, he is Park Jinyoung’s room mate.

To his surprise, the two walk past each other swiftly, not offering a single piece of eye contact and acknowledgement that they even knew each other. “What was that?” Mark mutters, mildly shocked.

“What was what?” Jinyoung all scowl and pout follows Mark blindly, he’s simply glaring at the floor.

“Isn’t he your room mate?”

“Yeah…”

“Should I not push it?”

“It’s nothing,” Jinyoung mumbles. “It’s just after my…episodes began, it’s been hard to…well, people. He just gets it worse cause he’s my room mate, people keep bothering him about me.”

Mark looks up in thought and nods slowly, turning a right, he makes his way to the garden quarters. The sun was out today but the air was cool, Mark hums in delight as the two of them make their way past vibrant flower beds and perfectly trimmed bushes and head towards the back exit of the university.

“Where we going anyway?” Jinyoung asks after finally peeling his eyes from the ground.

“There’s a street vendor across the road,” Mark nods, his hands stuffed into his fitted navy trousers. “I’m craving tteokbokki, you good with that?”

Jinyoung nods willingly, trudging closely to Mark. “So what’s today’s session about?”

“Whatever you want it to be,” Mark shrugs.

“You’re lack of interest wounds me, Professor,” Jinyoung jokes for a brief moment before his lips turn down. “Why do I get the feeling you don’t believe me?”

“Because you’re over thinking,”

“No, it’s just- most people would be sceptical, I mean before past lives, isn’t there the question of my mentality? How do you know I’m not losing my mind?” Jinyoung asks, his voice is especially soft now as if his words were wounding himself.

They reach the vendor, entering through the plastic curtains where the smell of spicy gochujang paste fills the air. “Well for one…” Mark raises two fingers and points to the vat of ttoekbokki the old man was mixing slowly, and then turns to Jinyoung. “You’re speaking languages you’ve never learnt and two, I just believe you.”

“You just believe me?” Jinyoung repeats, arching an eyebrow in disbelief.

The old man passes the two of them a small bowl of tteokbokki each, Mark is quick to pick up a toothpick and dive in. “Just like I believe you, can’t you just believe that I believe you?”

Jinyoung narrows his eyes, “You know sometimes I wonder if you speak that way to confuse people on purpose.”

Mark laughs with a full mouth and almost chokes. Jinyoung eyes him for a moment before snatching up a bunch of napkins and offering it to him. “Thanks,” Mark mumbles behind his hand. “There is something that confuses me though.”

“Oh, the shock,” Jinyoung deadpans, picking up his own toothpick he pokes at his rice cakes for a moment before stabbing one and bringing it into his mouth.

“No, seriously, as far as my research helps, if someone were to remember their past lives wouldn’t they just act like memories? But from what I’ve seen and heard it seems to take over you, like a possession or something?”

Jinyoung chews thoughtfully for a moment before speaking, “I don’t really know how to explain it. It’s not like I forget who I am or where I am but like...when the memories come, they’re so…” His eyebrows knit together and he takes a deep breath. “Powerful, like they’re all I can think about in that moment and it’s like I am suddenly them. I just seem to push me aside. Does that even make any sense?”

“Kind of…” Mark goes out to reach for a long stick ribboned with fish cake and bites at it vigorously. “So how many lives do you remember?”

“For definite, eleven,” Mark stills at that. “But a lot of them come to me in flashes, dreams, they’re mostly fragmented so I can’t match them together. It’s like I’m starting a puzzle from a corner and there’s no certainty I can find the other pieces.”

“Eleven?” Mark asks in disbelief, he looks to Jinyoung with a face of both shock and utter confusion.

“What- what’s wrong?” Jinyoung stutters, caught off guard by Mark.

Mark clears his throat and regains his composure quickly. “Nothing, it’s just surprising. Isn’t it suffocating?”

Jinyoung snorts, hard. “Yes, that’s exactly why this is an issue right now, Professor. You know? Professor Jung up my , Professor Choi down my throat, the whole student body betting on whether I’m on drugs or losing my mind. I think you’re the only one that hasn’t run in the complete opposite direction.”

“Oh believe me, I want to,” Mark says by accident, but if Jinyoung was hurt by his words, he doesn’t show it. “But you know, you’ve made my stay in Seoul a little more interesting. It’s good research too.”

Jinyoung laughs at that, “You’re going to sell me out professor?”

“No, never,” Mark says seriously. “God knows the media here, the mentality here, they’d eat you up and spit you out. It sounds harsh Jinyoung but be careful, they’ll destroy you, in any way physically, mentally possible.”

Jinyoung stares intently at Mark as he says this, and Mark watches a small smile play on his lips. “I know...you’re the only person I’ve told, and probably the only person that would believe me anyway.”

“You trust me too much,” Mark says with a of his lips.

“Maybe,” Jinyoung looks to the side at Mark and grins. Mark realises then that they’re almost the same height, Mark just slightly taller but that may be the heels on his leather shoes. He then looks away and takes a slight step to the side before digging into the last rice cake in his bowl.

There is something funny about Yonsei University, the immense pride they have for their Psychology courses, their expensive facilities and outstanding Professors, and yet the absolute lack of empathy they have for anyone with a mental issue. Mark’s thinking about the hypocrisy of it all as he sits on one of the four large leather sofas placed in the obnoxiously large counsellor's office.

He understands it was also a room for class sessions and group work, but really, Mark couldn’t understand the need for a ceiling so high if the roof were to pop off the sky would just him up.

Youngjae is on the other side of the room, which feels like a good three hundred meters from where Mark is, perched on a window, watching something beyond the glass. The university counsellor, a gruffy old man named Yoo Yeonseok, sits behind his desk wiping at his glasses for the fifth time now in the past half an hour. Mark was counting.

Mark goes to rub at his temples when he speaks, “I told you guys he doesn’t know.”

Yoonseok sighs from where he is, sliding his glasses back onto his nose. “How is it possible? He doesn’t know? Or he isn’t telling you?”

Mark rolls his eyes, “Yoonseok, you’re sceptical in your old age.” Yoonseok frowns at that. “What he told me was that he doesn’t know how he knows these...languages. He says it’s like as natural as Korean, that’s why he doesn’t realise he’s typing in one language and speaking in another.”

“Yes, but what is he thinking about when it happens? Is it like he’s taken over by something?” Yoonseok presses, his hands making circular motions in the air.

“This isn’t a ghost story, councillor.”

Youngjae turns at that, his face expressionless when he looks towards Mark. Yoonseok huffs in his seat and twirls around once, his hands clasped together at his chest. “We haven’t made much progress then.”

“I have just started with him, give us some time-”

“Time,” Youngjae interrupts. “Is something Jinyoung doesn’t have.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean Professor Jung’s patience is wearing thin, and it isn’t long till the media get some sort of catch that we have a...bomb roaming the campus,” Youngjae gets up from the window and paces closer towards the two of them.

“Bomb?” Mark echoes. “Really Youngjae?”

“Professor Choi is right,” Yoonseok adds. “You think because these students are adults now that their parents won’t make an issue out of it? They’ll march in here first thing and rip him apart themselves.”

Mark grimaces at that and then let’s his head hang back onto the sofa.

“Is there nothing else? Anything he told you?” Youngjae asks as he takes a seat on the opposite sofa, he mirrors Mark’s posture and leans back, crossing his leg over the other.

“Nothing,” Mark says flatly. “But he’s having trouble sleeping, do you think we can get something prescribed for him? It might improve his concentration if he actually rests.”

Yoonseok and Youngjae give each other a look before slouching in defeat. Mark doesn’t show it, but he let’s out of a silent breath of relief and relaxes ever so slightly.

“I guess all we can do is wait for any developments, Mark’s right, it hasn’t been that long,” Yoonseok finalises, shutting his notebook and sliding it into his drawer. “For now, I’ll see about some sleeping pills that’ll help him out.”

Mark nods, he’s about to thank him but then there’s an urgent knock at the door, and the three of them turn their heads to find Mihyun poking her head through the door, an apologetic and hurried look on her face.

“Sorry Professors, but we kind of need your help,” She says, her leg bouncing with anxiety.

Mark gets up from his seat slowly as Yoonseok eyes her, “What’s going on?”

“It’s Jinyoung, he’s- uh, something’s wrong, I think he’s having an episode again.” She says but Mark doesn’t really hear the end of the sentence because he’s already running out of the room.

It wasn’t hard to determine where Jinyoung was, the crowd forming at the end of the hallway was loud and noisy. It was the distinctive shout, however, of someone in pain that jolts Mark to run into the tight crowd of students.

“Move,” He demands, the authority in his voice is what makes them look back and quickly part for him, in turn they also reveal Jinyoung. He looks small where he is, huddled on the floor, his fingers clawing at the hair around his ears. His eyes are looking somewhere, somewhere far from here, they’re a pitch black, almost empty if Mark couldn’t see the fear in them.

As Mark get’s closer he hears the slight hum of a whimper, and quickly crouches beside Jinyoung. “Jinyoung?” He calls softly but Jinyoung doesn’t hear him, his eyes are distant, his body tight. “Jinyoung.”

Jinyoung twitches then, almost in response, but he doesn’t make any other indication to acknowledge Mark.

“What’s going on?” Youngjae huffs, emerging from the crowd of students.

“I don’t know, he was fine earlier,” Mark mumbles then looks over his shoulder at the nauseating amount of people that have gathered. “Get them out of here,” Mark says with a flick of his head. Youngjae gives Jinyoung a wary look over Mark’s shoulder before turning to the crowd of students to attempt in ushering them away.

Mark turns back to Jinyoung and places two firm hands on either side of his shoulder, and positions himself directly in front of him. “Jinyoung,” He calls out more harshly, and tightens his grip. “Jinyoung..”

Jinyoung shakes violently, his eyes flickering, tears well up as he looks up towards the ceiling, and then he let’s out a high cry. “Jinyoung!” Mark calls out, louder, shaking him. Jinyoung looks down then, he’s looking at Mark- no, he’s looking in Mark’s direction, his eyes quiver now, the darkness in them seems to go on for infinity, and then he opens his mouth and let’s out a hot breath, it’s filled with fear and desperation and it makes Mark feel sick to his stomach.

“Jinyoung, Jinyoung, can you hear me? It’s Mark, Professor Tuan-” Mark brings his hands up to either side of Jinyoung’s cheeks, his fingers digging into his jaw. “Jinyoung, wake up. It’s not real.”

Jinyoung violently jolts then, he opens his mouth and tries to speak but he just gasps. “What is it?” Mark whispers.

He makes another noise and swallows, “Ah….” He whimpers and let’s his head roll back up, he’s staring at something, his shoulders shaking. Jinyoung whispers something then, something inaudible, and Mark forces himself to lean in as close as possible. “助けて...” He cries softly.

Mark leans back and frowns deeply, “What? What was that?”

Jinyoung looks down again, but still, his eyes are lost, he’s looking at something beyond Mark, beyond the students, beyond this place and he’s crying. “助けて...” He sounds like he’s begging, his voice breaks and he suddenly goes to clutch at Mark’s shirt. “助けて!”

“Is that….is that Japanese? What is he saying?” Mark mumbles, desperately clinging to Jinyoung as he begins to violently shake, his shoulders tighten up and he takes in one last tiny gasp before his eyelids flutter shut, and his body goes limp against Mark.

Mark stares down at Jinyoung, his head against his shoulder and shivers, the hairs on his arms raising. “What did he just say?” Mark turns his head around, the students had lessened but there was still a few watchful eyes. “Does anyone understand what he just said?”

“Tasukete,” A soft voice says from beside Mark. He goes to instinctively tighten his grip around Jinyoung and turns to find Mihyun crouching beside the two of them. Her face, round and pretty, holds a deep frown, her blonde hair trickling past her bent knees. She tucks a strand behind her ear and looks solemnly up at Mark. “He’s asking for help.”