Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jaemin bursts into Mark's room, laughter spilling out of him in wild, hiccuping gasps. He lunges towards Mark, smacking his arm repeatedly between fits of donkey-like guffaws.

Mark flinches, jerking away. "Dude, what the fuck?!" He rubs his arm, glaring. "Did you come here just to assault me?"

Jaemin is wheezing too hard to answer. Instead, he waggles his phone at Mark, eyes practically sparkling with mischief. "HYUNG, you’re actually insane."

Mark groans. "what?"

"NOW Why is your ass on a dating website now!!!."

Without missing a beat, Jaemin shoves his phone into Mark’s face.

Mark squints at the blurry text before shoving Jaemin’s hand away. "The fuck are you talking about?" He snatches his glasses from the desk and slides them on, irritation mounting.

Jaemin groans, flopping onto the bed behind Mark. "Seriously? Glasses?? Such a haggg." He rolls onto his side, propping his head up with one hand, grin wide and absolutely unhinged.

Mark ignores him, finally grabbing the phone. His eyes drop to the screen.

Huh.

Dating S(i)M.

A profile stares back at him. His own face.

His gut drops like he just missed a step on the stairs.

"Huh?" he mutters, leaning in closer. It's unmistakably him—messy hair, awkward smile. Not even his best picture.

Could’ve been that one gym pic, at least.

Then it really hits him.

"HUH?!"

Mark yanks the phone away like it’s cursed, heart pounding (Ong its arrhythmia). "Why the FUCK is my face on a FUCKING dating site?!"He shoves the phone back in Jaemin's face, who cant stop laughing.

"Dude, what the hell?!" Mark demands. "Is this your idea of a joke?"

Jaemin throws his hands up, still howling. "Hyung, I love you, but if I were catfishing, I’d use my own face. You should be honored someone thought you were worthy."

Mark smacks his arm. "Get to the point!"

"Okay, okay!" Jaemin wheezes, wiping a tear from his eye. "Lixie was just minding his own business, looking up Hyunjin on that site, and BAM—he finds YOU."

Mark stares at him. "What the actual fuck—"

Jaemin just grins. "So. Who's out there pretending to be you, hyung? And more importantly..." He leans in, voice dropping to a dramatic whisper. "Are they pulling?"

He grabs his phone back scrolling and stops breathing for a while seeing something.

Then he starts laughin yet again.

Jaemin is absolutely dying. He passes his phone to Mark,

He’s half-curled on the bed, legs kicking as he gasps for breath, his laughter bouncing off the walls. "Bro—bro, I can't—'" he wheezes, clutching his stomach. "‘Ma-mark me in your heart’—HOLY SHIT—'"

Mark, meanwhile, is experiencing a psychosis.

He stares at the screen like its cursed. Slowly, hesitantly, he scrolls down.

The bio reads:

~
~
~

My name’s Mark, but you can mark me in your heart.

💘 Literature Major 📖

💘 Hopeless Romantic 💕

~
~
~

Mark actually stops breathing for a second.

What.

What the fuck.

"Jaemin," he croaks, his voice cracking. "Jaemin, no."

"Jaemin, YES," Jaemin cackles, rolling onto his back, hands covering his face. "Who the hell did this? Why does it sound like something you’d actually say?"

Mark violently twitches. "I WOULD NEVER—"

His eyes dart back to the screen, scrolling further. There’s a whole goddamn about section.

✨ About Me: ✨

Hey there,. 😉 If you love deep convos about life (or, like, kimchi jiggae), we’re already kinda soulmates. (～￣▽￣)～

I believe in fate, second chances, and someone who makes my heart race faster than my morning coffee (which, tbh, doesn’t even work on me). ☕💘

Bad puns, oversized hoodies, and late-night drives? Swipe right. 💫

P.S. If you actually like poetry, I promise I won’t make you read mine. Unless you want to. Or like, if you’re into bad poetry. In which case... uh, I got you?

Mark literally blacks out for a second.

"I need to die."

"No, no, you need to LIVE," Jaemin shrieks, smacking the bed like he’s at a comedy show. "This is ART. Who the hell wrote this? It’s like… it’s like the most cringe yet lowkey adorable thing ever—like, bro, I’m tearing up a little."

Mark aggressively runs a hand through his hair. "Who—WHO DID THIS?!"

Jaemin is too busy wheezing to answer.

Mark swipes up, looking for more evidence of this blasphemy, and then—oh god—he finds the pictures.

It’s his face, yeah, but these are pictures from when he was just a guy trying to find an aesthetic.

There’s one of him half-smiling, hair a mess, staring off into the distance like a melancholic poet in his sad girl era.

One of him hugging a random cat with a black-and-white filter in his softboy era.

Another one—THE FINAL BOSS OF THEM ALL—is him in a hoodie, hands tucked in his sleeves, captioned:

"I'd hold your hand, but I’m already holding my coffee ☕💖." in his wannabe incel era (Dont ask him why he had that).

Mark physically recoils.

"OH MY GOD."

Jaemin WAILS.

"WHO DID THIS? WHY THESE PICTURES?? I HAVE BETTER ONES NOWWW!!" Mark is losing his grip on reality.

Jaemin gasps for breath, wiping away actual tears. "I dunno, man, but they really captured your essence. Like, if someone asked me to describe you, I’d just show them this profile."

Mark is seconds away from a stroke.

"Whoever made this—I SWEAR TO GOD, JAEMIN—I will FIND them, and I will END THEM."

Jaemin grins. "Or… you could message them. "

Mark stares at him. "I hope you choke."

Jaemin shrugs, still giggling. "I probably will, but not before I see how many matches you have."

Mark lunges for the phone, but Jaemin is fast—too fast, the little freak—and dodges effortlessly, scrolling down.

Then his whole face lights up then lights down. "Bro," he breathes. "It's a private account. FUCKKKKK."

Mark slumps forward, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. Relief crashes through him, bright and dizzying. "Thank God."

Jaemin tilts his head, calculating, and Mark’s stomach drops, because that look never means anything good. "But that also means…" Jaemin hums, drawing out the words. "We don’t know how many people this fake Mark has been flirting with."

Mark's blood runs ice cold. "What."

Jaemin grins, as Mark sees the most evil look possible take over his fae. "Like, imagine how many poor souls have tried to slide into your DMs, thinking they were talking to a hopeless romantic lit major who's down bad for poetry and bad puns only to be scammed."

Mark opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. "Fine. I need to throw up."

Jaemin waves a dismissive hand. "Nah, we need to investigate."

Mark stares. "Investigate?"

Jaemin’s eyes glint with the kind of deranged mischief that has historically led to his worst decisions. "We catfish."

Mark lets out an undignified sputter. "Are you fucking serious?"

Jaemin smacks his shoulder like Mark is the one being unreasonable. "Think about it! We make a fake profile, slide into their messages, make them fall in love. WE CATFISH THE CATFISHER."

Mark groans, gripping his hair. "I do not have the emotional capacity for this."

Jaemin shrugs, already unlocking Mark's phone. "Good thing I do." demonstratnig peak unemployed behaviour.

Mark watches in escalating horror as Jaemin moves with demonic speed, fingers flying over the screen, creating a whole new profile like he’s done this before. (Which. Horrifyingly scary thought.)

"Man, stop, you're scaring me."

"Shhh," Jaemin hushes him, eyes maniacal as he types. "Operation Catch a Catfish is fully in progress."

"That is not the name—"

"Too late, it’s the name now."

Mark exhales sharply, his gut yelling at him to make Jaemin stop. "Fine. Whatever. What's the plan?"

Jaemin leans in, grinning, way too excited "First, we need a sexy ass profile to lure them in. Something so irresistible they won’t be able to help but respond."

Mark eyes him warily. "You’re enjoying this way too much."

Jaemin just winks, demonic. "Oh, you have no idea."

----

An hour later, their masterpiece is complete. Jaemin, practically vibrating with excitement, shoves the phone into Mark’s hands, his grin so wide it showcases all his 813 million white teeth.

“Soooo,” he drawls, “Who’s our unfortunate victim? Who are we catfishing as?”  

Mark takes one long, slow look at the screen, then lifts his gaze to meet Jaemin’s expectant eyes.

Mark deadpans, “You.”  

Silence.  

Jaemin blinks. Once. Twice. His smile twitches. “Me?”  

Mark nods solemnly.  

Jaemin stares at him, expression morphing from confusion to realization to sheer, unfiltered delight. “Dude. That’s either the dumbest or most genius thing you’ve ever said.”  

Mark shrugs, already typing out the first name as “Jaemin.” “Both, probably.”

"But I am dipping out if I catch a bag with Jeno tho! Just a heads-up. NOW LETS GET THIS CATFISH BASTARD"

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

“Mark DID WHAT?!” Doyoung screeches, his voice going shrill . It rockets across the room like a fire alarm, and Jaemin loses it - folding in half, gasping for air, stumbling back with a hand over his stomach like he’s physically in pain from how stupid this all is.

Motherfucker

Mark doesn’t even try to defend himself. The second Doyoung's voice hits that register, he flinches like he’s been slapped-he probably will be slapped afterwards-a deep, slow flush crawling up the back of his neck. His face drops into his palm. He’s been caught. He’s so fucked.

Shit.

Doyoung spins on Mark, eyes wide with betrayal. “Are you serious right now?” he demands, voice low and sharp “You—you talked to him? The catfish? You actually responded?!”

Mark doesn’t answer. He just reaches for his work laptop, closes it with a soft click, and slips off his headphones. His movements are slow. Resigned.

There's absolutely no use running away now.

Doyoung’s voice rises. “What the hell were you thinking?! You’re not new to the internet, Mark! You know how this works! You don’t fucking engage! You don’t get cozy with a scammer using your face! This isn’t a quirky meet-cute! This is FUCKING identity theft!”

Mark groans audibly, dragging a hand down his face, already wilting under the heat of Doyoung’s wrath.

Jaemin trails behind Doyoung with a shit-eating grin, snickering like the absolute stupid fuck menace he is. He plants himself behind Doyoung, ready to amplify every drop of rage with a chorus of snorts and smug giggles. His face is glowing, obnoxiously pleased with himself.

Doyoung wheels on him next, rage ricocheting like a pinball. “And YOU—what the actual fuck were you thinking making a fake account to catfish the catfish?! Are you twelve?! Were you bored?! Or are you just a stupid kid?!”

Jaemin just shrugs, still grinning like this is the best day of his life. “I was curious,” he says, like that’s a valid excuse for anything. “Also... it was kinda funny.”

“Funny?! FUNNY?” Doyoung practically short-circuits, throwing his hands up in the air. “You should’ve reported the guy! That’s what normal people do! You don’t engage! You don’t create a whole fake persona and start FLIRTING BACK! What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“It issss funny,” Jaemin says sweetly, eyes glinting with mischief. “You’re just soft for Mark hyung.”

"NO you're not supposed to enable Mark, you know he's stupid as fuck!!" Doyoung states it like its a fact. Mark pouts "Heyyyy." Doyoung shushes him up with a glare. Doyoung goes to state every stupid thing he's done ever in his life.

"Hyunnggggg-"

Jaemin is crying from laughing right now.

Mark makes another sound-half groan, half scream-as he hides his face in both hands. He’s going to evaporate.

"It isnt that serious....." He mumbles

"Not serious?" Do young turns around.

Mark hisses.

“Oh my God, NOT SERIOUS?????????” Doyoung breathes  back to Mark with a look of renewed horror.

“YOU DOXXED YOUR OFFICE LOCATION TO THE FUCKASS GUY WHO’S CATFISHING AS YOU?!”

Mark opens his mouth. Closes it. No words come out.

-flashback to 3 days-

Mark thinks Chan is funny. They've been talking for 3 weeks now.

SUE HIM.

Sure, Chan is probably catfishing half the internet using Mark’s face and scamming at least a dozen poor, horny souls in DMs right now. But goddamn the guy’s jokes? Impeccable. The balance is insane. Puns, deez nut jokes, self-aware wit, and the occasional brain-meltingly clever one-liner  AND along with the brainrot skibidi memes? Mark finds himself genuinely impressed.

It’s not fair.

Its soo unlike him. Chan is really bad at this catfishing shit too.

He shouldn’t be laughing. He should be reporting this dudeand then wiping his existence from the face of the internet. That’s what a responsible person would do.

Instead, he’s sitting on his couch, phone in hand, rereading old messages and smiling like a dumbass.

Kill me, he thinks.

Right on cue, his phone dings with a message. Mark fumbles for it like it's a lifeline.

Thankfully, the apartment is silent. Jaemin had mercifully left earlier for some last-minute 2 a.m. “booty call” leaving Mark with rare, blessed privacy.

He opens the message. It's from Chan.

I commit tax fraud.

Do u find that hot?? Please find that hot.

Mark lets a simple chuckle slip out of his mouth.
God help him, this is so stupid.

i don’t know
should i??

Absolutely.
i’m a sexy criminal with a great ass. I can even dance~~
what more do u want? a 401k?

Mark bites his knuckle to keep from laughing. This is—this is actually funny. Infuriatingly so.

is your ass part of the tax write-off or

yes. and also a family business.
everyone gets a turn, we believe in equity in the lee household😌

Oh so he's also a lee?

Mark snorts. Actually snorts. Then immediately looks around like Jaemin’s going to pop out of the closet yelling “TRAITOR!”

He stares at the screen, then remembers: wait.
He’s supposed to be catfishing this guy back. Not flirting. Not blushing. Not smiling like a loser at 8:14 in the morning.

Focus, dumbass.

Right. Catfish the catfish. Get him to slip. Get intel. Expose him. Report him. Righteous justice and all that.

He clears his throat like someone’s watching, then types with forced casualness.

so like
where are u from anyway

ooh
we’re asking the real questions now 👀
are u trying to fall in love wid me??

youre deflecting
is that guilt i smell or ur family business ass

ur kinda spicy when you interrogate me
do it again but like
while stepping on my neck

Mark covers his face with both hands. Oh my God.
He’s flirting back. He is flirting back with a dude who is impersonating him.

He debates throwing his phone into a volcano, but instead just sighs deeply and keeps typing.

seriously
just trying to know who i’m talking to
u can’t be hot and mysterious. pick one.

fine
i’m from seoul
but my body’s wherever ur bed is rn 😇

Mark freezes.

For a second, a single second, he imagines a reality where this isn’t a catfish but a real person, and they’re flirting on a dating app like normal people. He imagines some guy curled up somewhere, laughing while typing stupid jokes and waiting for his replies.

He imagines… liking him.

Then he slaps himself. Out loud.

"Get it together," he mutters.

And types:

so like… what do u actually do
outside of tax fraud and being a dance major
Tell me bout yourself

you can call me haechan, its my pretty nickname

Mark smiles. Thats close to the name I kept

i’m a part-time barista
which basically means i'm paid minimum wage to survive daily personality assassination from latte people
Also I like taking it up the ass. Preferably from you.

Mark stares at the message.

Then reads it again.

Then claps a hand over his mouth as a loud, startled laugh escapes - sharp and ridiculous and echoing through the silent apartment.

“Oh my fucking God,” he wheezes, doubling over. He has to set his phone down for a second because he’s laughing too hard to function. Actual tears prick at the corners of his eyes. His abdomen squeezes, muscles crushing his organs in. He’s going to develop abs at this rate.

He snatches his phone again with shaking fingers and types back:

wow.
you’re clinically insane. like full-blown, textbook def

The reply is instant.

oh yeah that too
forgot to mention it
ADHD? check.
oral fixation? double check 😌
wanna do a wellness check on me???
physically. with your mouth? On my dick.

Mark lets out another full-body groan, this time into a throw pillow. He actually kicks his legs like a teenager. This is getting out of hand.

i’m going to block you
for my own health

u say that
but you won’t
coward
You enjoy me wayyy too muchhh

Mark sighs. He does.

You're right

see 😇
now tell me about you
other than being hot

Mark bites his lips contemplating whether to tell him or not.

Ya know what?? Fuck it.

I work in the marketing department.
I have a senior employee who id like to kill

ooooh
you should tell me where you work
i’ll come in and make a formal complaint about your senior
very aggressive
lots of finger pointing
maybe cry a little if I have to
for the full Karen experience

Mark laughs. He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t.

He stares at his screen for a second, fingers hovering.

Then sighs.

And, like the dumbass he is, he types:

SkyBridge Media. The Eunsung Building.
If you show up with a fake bob wig and a venti iced americano I’ll personally fund your Oscar campaign

There’s a beat.

Then his phone explodes.

YOU DID NOT JUST DROP THE LOCATION
ur gonna get doxxed
by ME
what if i show up. what if i’m real. what if i’m hot

then i’m calling security
and also probably asking for ur number

wow
horny and reckless
ur my type

pls don’t rob me

no promises
but i’ll do it respectfully  
And I promise good head!!!

Mark flops backward onto the couch, dragging a hand down his face.

you’re gonna be the reason i get fired
i hope you know that

good.
then you’ll have time to join my OnlyFans team

-flashback end-

His phone pings again. Mark glances down, sees Haechan’s name-well his own name pop up from the dating app, and instantly grins like a fool. He doesn’t even try to hide it.

Across the room, Doyoung catches the expression and groans like he’s aged twenty years in two seconds. He fixes Mark with a look that’s equal parts exhausted and done.

“I’m so tired of you fuckers,” he mutters. “Do whatever the hell you want. Just don’t lose money, add to the population, subtract from it, or end up crying on my floor over anyone.” and leaves pulling Jaemin with him.

Wanna like voice call and shi?

His mind goes completely blank.

Like, terrifyingly blank.

Not a single thought in his head, just this empty, weightless space. His heart skips a beat, then starts pounding like it’s sprinting to catch up with itself. Mark stares at the message, his thumb hovering hesitantly over the keyboard, unsure whether he should toss his phone or throw himself out the window.

Why is he nervous? It’s just a call. With a person. A person who’s pretending to be him. Who’s probably scamming people. And who is also annoyingly hilarious. And maybe even hot in Mark's imgination -

God, he’s spiraling.

Sure, lol.

He sends it with the kind of calm that doesn’t exist. Like he didn’t just delete “uhh” five times before typing anything. Like he isn’t sweating through his hoodie right now.

His phone buzzes again.

Incoming call: Mark Lee.

Mark freezes. His gaze locks onto the screen, which feels like it's screaming at him now. He stares at it like it might just jump off the table and smack him in the face. Mark would like that right now.

Oh my god, he thinks, panicking. What the hell do I do?

The phone keeps ringing, and the screen flashes Mark Lee is calling.

He stares at it for a moment, then - without thinking, in the absolute most Mark Lee way possible - he answers the call mid-panic.

“...Hello?” His voice cracks, making him want to crawl into a hole.

And then, on the other end, comes a soft giggle, pure and mischievous.

“Hmmm? You okay there?” Haechan’s voice is sugary sweet and so confident, it makes Mark’s stomach do a weird little flip. “You sound a little... shaky.”

Mark squeezes his eyes shut, wishing he could disappear. But then-

“Damn, though,” Haechan continues, teasing and playful, “You sound kinda cute when you’re nervous.”

Mark nearly chokes. His heart is going to explode. “I-I don’t-” He can’t even form a coherent sentence.

Haechan hums in the way that makes Mark feel like he’s melting. “Hmm? Don’t what?”

Mark doesn’t even know how to handle this version of Haechan. He sounds so light, so confident, like he's effortlessly playing with Mark's emotions just by speaking. Every word from him is a tease, like he’s enjoying Mark’s panic just a little too much.

It shouldn't feel this good.

Mark's chest tightens. Why is he like this? Why does a voice like that make Mark's heart race? It's like Haechan's voice is dripping with sweetness, but there's a sharp edge to it.

“You good?” Haechan asks again, soft but in that impossibly cute way that makes Mark feel completely off-balance. “You went quiet all of a sudden.”

Mark clutches a throw pillow to his chest, half because he’s nervous and half because he needs to remind himself that he’s still alive right now. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He’s not fine. He’s definitely not fine. “Just... uh.”

His words stumble out, but he can’t stop himself from saying it.

“You have a really nice voice.”

It’s out before he can stop it. And his face burns the second it leaves his mouth.

There’s a small pause. Haechan laughs, but it’s not mocking. It’s pure, cute confidence. “You think so?” He sounds pleased, like he’s enjoying Mark’s flustered reaction a little too much.

“Yeah,” Mark mumbles, heat crawling up his neck. “It’s... um... really calming and melodious. But also kind of annoying?”

“Annoying?” Haechan repeats, sounding so sweetly offended it makes Mark’s heart skip. “Ouch. I’m hurt.”

And then—

Mark scrambles to explain himself "No Like I meant annoying in like a cute way."

Haechan giggles again, light and carefree. Mark swears his chest is about to explode from this one laugh.

And he thinks, Oh, god, I’m so screwed.

Chapter Text

It’s nearly midnight when Mark’s phone lights up. He’s half-asleep on the couch, the TV still murmuring some crime documentary he stopped following twenty minutes ago. Jaemin is out probably team tagging someone with Injun again. The glow of the screen cuts into the dark, and for a moment, he doesn't move.

His phone buzzes. Just once. A soft vibration against his thigh but it feels like a bullet. He knows it’s Haechan.

Of course it’s Haechan.

It always is these days.

tell me again how your job is destroying ur soul in increasingly poetic bullshit.
i got a pint of ice cream and need background tragedy to make it taste betta.

id rather die than give you the satisfaction

oh??????

o u can write poetry about ur cubicle hell but u can’t text me a few metaphors?

didn’t you already tell me you live in Seoul last week?????
seems like you LOVE giving me satisfaction.

that was a severe moment of weakness

tired enough to drop your location to a stranger on the internet??
you’re a PSA waiting to happen bby

you’re obnoxious
AND i dont like u knowing where i live

go away

then stop texting me back
but you won’t
bc you loveeee meee

reported

blocked

arrested

You do know i have a kink of getting arrested right????

OH GOD
WHAT DO U NOT HAVE A KINK FOR?

Idfk
wanna find out????

Mark throws the phone onto the couch beside him, then immediately snatches it back up like it’s a limb he’s severed by mistake. His heart is beating too fast. Not the fluttery kind—he’s not that far gone (well atleast he thinks)—but the kind that comes with dread and guilt. With that rush of awareness that he should not be doing this. That Haechan isn’t safe. That none of this is.

He’s supposed to be smarter than this. The guy has catfished him. Mark has evidence. Screenshots. Receipts. He’s getting good at this—quiet, passive revenge. He’s supposed to pretend to care, lead him on, make him trust him, and then drop it all on his head.

So why does it feel like he’s the one being undone?

you’re real quiet.
are you having a crisis again????

i am regretting every second of my life where i engaged with u

hot as fuck.

be more specific. regret how?

physically? emotionally? sexually?

i’m not pent up

stop projecting

oh so you’re just mean nowadays FOR FUN then

noted

ps. fuckin sociopath behavior tbh.

it’s actually a hobby

top 3 pastimes: suffering, repressing, and bullying you

repressed AND horny

deadly combo
I need tat

I MEANR AS IN REPRESSING EMOTIONSSS

ya sure???

Mark covers his face with both hands and mutters, “Oh my god,” into them. Then he laughs. Like—real laughter. Quiet, breathless, slightly deranged.

How does Haechan know exactly where to dig? How does he know exactly when to say shit like that—right when Mark is lonely enough to answer, but prideful enough to try and hide it?

He isn’t even sexting. Haechan isn’t being graphic. But somehow it makes Mark burn hotter than any actual dirty talk he’s had with real partners. There’s something worse about the implication. About how Haechan teases him like someone who knows how to handle him, not just seduce him.

you know

i hope one day you send this crap to the wrong person and they actually show up at your door

aw. you thinking about my door?

come knock, coward
we canhav some rough sexx

Mark stares at the text, the words blurring together as his brain short-circuits. Haechan is faceless in his imagination of cpurse, a silhouette that somehow feels too vivid and too abstract. The thought of rough sex—Haechan’s teasing voice paired withsomething messier—shortens his breath in a way that feels humiliating. He shifts uncomfortably, trying to shake the image loose.

Nope. No way. He isn’t doing this. He refuses to spiral over a faceless guy—WHO'S CATFISHING AS HIM—on the internet.

His fingers hover over the keyboard, desperate for an escape route. Work. He’ll talk about work.  Work is miserable. But work is safe.

today was so bad i’m actually considering setting myself on fire in the office parking lot

He hits send with a shaky exhale, almost throwing his phone away just to avoid seeing the response. But the reply comes immediately, and somehow, it actually works.

finally

embracing the theater kid in you i see

Mark snorts, half a laugh and half a groan. Haechan’s the only person who could take his Monday-level misery and lace it with ridiculousness. He taps out a reply, already feeling the tension in his jaw loosen a little.

no like genuinely

if i mysteriously vanish tomorrow it’s because my boss asked
if 'i’ve tried turning it off and on again' for the fiftieth time 
while i was fixing his fucking mess

There’s no exaggeration there. Mark can still hear the clapping echoing in his brain like a mockery of all he’s sacrificed for this job.

omg you’re so brave
the strength it must take to be praised by a man who says “let’s circle back” unironically

A laugh bursts out of Mark before he can stop it. He claps a hand over his mouth, like someone might hear him from the hallway. He texts back immediately.

i hate you

no you don’t
u sent me where your offcie trip was to prove a stupid bet

Mark buries his face in a pillow and groans. He did do that. He did that with full intention. He lifts his phone with the grim resignation of someone already too far gone.

that was another very severe moment of weakness

it was a moment of desperation

“haechan look!! it’s a two hour drive with traffic!! validate me!!”

you sounded like a feral golden retriever bbg

i’m blocking you

no you’re not

you’d miss me

besides i’m the only thing keeping you from snapping and drop-kicking your manager into a server rack

Mark’s lips twitch. He hates that he’s right. He hates it more that he likes how well Haechan knows him.

you’re not wrong

say it

His heart skips.

i’m not saying it

say it

say 'haechan you’re the light of my joyless corporate life'

Mark closes his eyes and exhales. The worst part is that he wants to say it. Cause it is true.

jesus christ

come on

you sent me a blurry pic of your sad desk lunch and called me your only source of serotonin

i think you owe me this

Mark groans again, full-body this time. He stares at the ceiling like it might offer any escpae. It doesn’t.

fine

haechan

you’re the light of my joyless corporate life

He cringes as he presses send. The italicizing was unnecessary. Or maybe it was the most necessary part.

you didn’t have to italicize it but thank you

felt appropriate

god you’re so dramatic

i can practically hear the violins swelling in the background

what’s next

you gonna tell me i’m your muse

Mark snorts. The worst part is, if this were a film, Haechan would be standing in a pool of dramatic light. Shirt half-buttoned. Wind machine blowing. Mark hates how vividly he can see it.

no but you are the reason i’ve been fantasizing about committing  arson

blushes

my impact

Mark chuckles to himself, rubbing a hand through his hair. He really should be more fucking concerned about how fast his mood lifts every time Haechan texts.

speaking of work

how did the ban thing go

you said your manager was finally gonna do something?

omg yes

he’s finally fucking gone

like actual official customer ban

can’t come back

i got a whole email and everything

Mark sits up a little straighter, tension pricking his spine.

wait really??

dude that’s amazing

you’ve been dealing with that creep for weeks
remember the waiting till your shift ends shit???

i wish that was the worst part
there was this weird anime hoodie

the one with the ahegao faces?
EW

YEP

he showed up wearing that

and said 'you remind me of my favorite character'

and then winked

Mark visibly recoils. His toes curl in secondhand discomfort.

i’m gonna be sick

i almost quit on the spot

but then i remembered i have rent

so i just smiled because you cant be treated like a human in customer service

He closes his eyes and exhales through his nose. If he were there, he would’ve marched behind the counter himself and made the guy eat the hoodie.

honestly i don’t know how you didn’t throw hot coffee at him

you’re way stronger than me

not really

i just have dance rehearsals six days a week and need to afford instant noodles and icy hot and my ibuprofenn

Mark smiles, fond and small. Of course Haechan would joke about pain like it’s flirting.

and yet you still text me every night like this

are you trying to die of exhaustion?

maybe

but like

what a way to go

death by tragic flirting and sleep deprivation

that does sound like you

also
youre so pent up its fucking funny to watch 

what the—

don’t lie

every time you get flustered you type slower

your punctuation gets extra formal

you use em-dashes

who uses fucking em-dashes mid panic
its like a shitty ai fic
like its soooo funny who does thattt

that’s not true—

there it is

the em-dash of doom and truth

you’re unbelievable

so is the fact that you probably haven’t gotten laid in 6 months

that’s because i’m busy!!

busy doing WHAT baby

reciting bible verses????

i hate you

no you don’t

you’re blushing

how would you even know??

because i know you

and because it’s my name lighting up your screen
when you’re home alone with nothing but your imagination and that squeaky ass desk chair

i’m not talking to you anymore
and luna is not squeakyyy

liar
ALSO WHY DOES IT HAVE NAMEEEE

Now!

you’re gonna stare at this message for three damn minutes

think about your life choices

and then text me “shut up” like a sad little Victorian widow

Mark tilts his head back against the cushion, groaning at the ceiling. The worst part is—it’s satisfying. That moment when he accidentally types out the name of his apartment and hits send before realizing it’s too intimate, too risky—Haechan doesn’t mock him. Doesn’t pounce. Just sends a calm “I knew it,” like he’s confirming a suspicion about the weather. No threats. No weird shifts. Just smug amusement, followed by a casual recommendation for a good coffee shop nearby. Like he belongs there.

God, it’s so dumb.

But Haechan knows things. Things Mark hasn’t told anyone. That he hates the overhead lights at work because they make his skin feel like plastic. That he always keeps one foot tucked under him when he sits on his couch. That he watches food vlogs to fall asleep but lies about watching true crime because it sounds less pathetic.

The guy’s in his head. It makes Mark itch. It makes him warm. He hates it. But god he likes it sooo much.

He coughs—out loud, for no reason. Like someone might be listening. Like he could exorcise it from his body if he just made a sound. He even looks at the door, like someone might walk in and catch him. Like he’s doing something wrong.

He is. This is spiraling. It’s always spiraling.

Mark types a full paragraph. Deletes it. Types another. Deletes that, too.

Then just sends:
“Shut up.”

shut up

called it

...you should sleep

so should you

unless you wanna keep talking

i always wanna keep talking

me too

goodnight baby

goodnight haechan

...and congrats again. seriously. i’m proud of you

thank you

that means more than you know

He is supposed to hate this guy. He is supposed to be playing the long game, gathering information, setting up some slow, cruel end to whatever scam Haechan is playing on him.

But that plan is slipping through his fingers like sugar.

He hears Jaemin fumble with his keys.

Mark hears the door before he sees them—metal clinking, then a thud, a muffled laugh, and another thud that’s probably Renjun hitting the wall on purpose. Or Jaemin. Or both.

He barely has time to shove his phone under the throw pillow when they stumble into the living room. Renjun’s arm is slung around Jaemin’s neck, the two of them moving as one drunk, giggling organism.

“Hi, loser,u still up????” Jaemin slurs, grinning.

Renjun blinks at Mark, pupils wide, cheeks flushed, looking uncharacteristically soft and sweet. “You’re smiling,” he accuses.

Mark instinctively wipes at his mouth like he’s been caught red-handed. “No, I’m not.”

Jaemin collapses dramatically onto the couch next to him, nearly squashing the hidden phone. “You are! Holy shit, you actually have cheekbones again.”

“I always have cheekbones.”

“Not lately,” Renjun mutters, flopping down on Mark’s other side. “You’re like if existential dead was a person. YIKES COULDNT SEE YOUR FACE LIKE THERE WAS A CLOUD HANGING OVER IT!!"

Mark rolls his eyes. “Are you drunk or just obnoxious?”

“Yes,” they say in unison.

There’s a beat of quiet, filled only with Jaemin’s drunken sigh and Renjun kicking his shoes off. Then Jaemin nudges Mark’s shoulder, harder than necessary.

“You’re different tonight.”

Mark doesn’t answer.

“You are,” Jaemin insists, tone slipping into something quieter. “Lighter. Less…” He waves a hand in the air like he’s describing fog. “Less heavy.”

Renjun hums in agreement. “Yeah. Like you stopped clenching your ass for five minutes.”

“Thank you for the poetic insight,” Mark deadpans.

Jaemin doesn’t laugh. Neither does Renjun.

Renjun leans forward, face suddenly serious in that way only drunk people can manage. “You were texting him again, weren’t you?”

Mark stiffens. It’s not a question.

“You guys don’t even try to hide it,” Renjun continues, poking Mark in the arm with every word. “You go all glassy-eyed and flushed like a middle aged white woman reading smut.”

Mark glares. “It’s not like that.”

Jaemin raises a brow. “Oh? Then why’d you hide your phone the second we walked in?”

Mark opens his mouth, but no defense comes out. Instead, Jaemin sighs and leans in, pressing a warm, slightly-too-soft kiss to Mark’s cheek.

Mark freezes.

“I hate that it’s him,” Renjun says against his skin. “I hate that it’s a fucking catfish pretending to be you. Like, what the fuck?”

“It’s complicated,” Mark whispers.

“No,” Renjun says firmly, pulling back. “It’s bullshit.”

Jaemin looks at Mark with this soft, tilted smile that somehow still aches. “You didn’t block him, and now you’re—fuck, Mark, you’re smiling. Like actually happy. That’s the worst part.”

There’s a long pause. Then Renjun exhales, rough and sharp, and says, “I hate that the happiest we’ve seen you in months is because of some fucknig asshole pretending to be you.”

“Like, yeah, maybe he’s funny. Maybe he gets you.” Renjun stands, wobbling slightly but determined. “But that’s your face he’s wearing. That’s your personality in his mouth.”

Mark looks down. It’s all too much.

Jaemin rakes a hand through his hair, face twisted with something like helpless frustration. “Dude. You barely even talk to us about stuff. And now you’re letting this—this fake, this internet stranger get into your head?”

Mark looks down. His phone buzzes softly. He doesn’t check it.

Renjun reaches forward, cups Mark’s face gently—too gently—and pulls him in.

And kisses him.

It’s quick. Dry lips and warm breath and the sharp smell of beer.

Mark jerks back, stunned. “What the hell-”

Renjun shrugs, eyes bright and a little glassy. “Had to confirm something.”

Jaemin is laughing softly behind them, bitter and fond all at once. “You’re so fucking dramatic.”

Renjun gently tilts Mark’s chin up. “I’m gonna find him.”

“What?”

“I’m gonna find that motherfucker,” Renjun says. “I’m gonna hunt him down, find out who he really is, and make him apologize. Properly. Face to face. On his fucking knees if I have to.”

Jaemin snorts. “And then we’re gonna make sure he shows up with flowers or a playlist or whatever tragic shit you’re into.”

“And then you can kiss KISS FALL IN LOVEE,” Renjun finishes simply.

Mark blinks at him.

“Mark,” Jaemin says, curling up beside him, voice quiet and sleepy now, “you deserve to feel like this. But not with someone who’s lying.”

Mark’s throat works around a word he doesn’t know how to say.

Renjun pats his cheek twice. “Now drink some water before you spiral again.”

Jaemin tosses a water bottle at his chest with surprisingly good aim. “We love you, but you’re a dumbass.”

Mark clutches the bottle and mumbles, “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank us,” Jaemin says, flopping back against the cushions. “Thank the catfish who somehow got you to live again.”

Renjun smirks. “And then let me punch him. Just once.”

Mark finally picks up his phone. The last message from Haechan is still there, waiting.

He swallows hard. He’s still got that text open on his phone under the pillow.

thank you. that means more than you know

He wants to believe it’s real.

And maybe, just maybe—if Renjun’s right—it could be.

Or it could burn them all down.

Mark types slowly.

“You’re ruining me.”

Deletes it.

Types again.

“Can’t wait for you to come ruin my life in person.”

He doesn’t send that one either.

Instead, he just types:

“I think I’m in trouble.”

And hits send.

Chapter Text

            Now it’s been three days.

Three full days since Haechan’s last message.

No texts. No memes. No voice notes. Not even one of those low-quality blurry chinese memes Haechan sends when he wants attention but refuses to ask for it directly. Nothingg. Mark’s message sits there, blue-ticked and untouched like actually untouched like he's been untouched. He hasnt had sex in 6 months but thats for another chapter (Ps its the next one).

The worry is a quiet ache, growing more with every hour.

Because this—this isn’t like Haechan.

Haechan doesn’t ghost. He sulks. He throws sarcastic tantrums, dramatizes the tiniest inconvenience, blocks Mark for three hours and unblocks him again with a bad lady gaga meme captioned “look what you’re missing.”

But silence? Silence is not his brand.

Mark had tried brushing it off at first. Maybe he’s just busy. Maybe his phone died. Maybe he's with his friends. Maybe he's dead. Or like kidnapped.

Was I too casual?
Should I not have texted so much?

Mark finds himself rereading their last conversation, scrutinizing everything, every “lol” and “lmao” where he's come off as clingy.

He sighs and locks his phone just as he punches into work trying not to let it ruin his work day.

But just as he walks in, his phone buzzes.

It’s Haechan.

Mark stops walking. Stares at the messages. Feels relief wash over him.

He's okay. He’s dramatic. But he’s okay. He's etxting Mark again. And just like that, all of Mark’s anxiety—the overthinking, the silent treatment panic—flies right out the damn window like it was never even fucking there.

The clingy energy is insane. Like actually out of pocket. And yea, Mark’s fully aware of how fucking unhinged it is, but he chooses to ignore it for the sake of his mental stability.

He opens the app, thumb jabbing the screen so hard he nearly cracks it—like the force could make Haechan feel how much he missed him as he polps down his chair in his cabinet.

i’m gonna fuckin die

like i actually might drop dead in the middle of this 🥀🥀

my vocal cords are lik sandpaper

my range is fucking nonexistent

He whispers, “What…?” just as Johnny walks past muttering, “Don’t use your phone, Markkkk,” and Mark shrugs him off like a mosquito, fingers already flying across the screen.

wait

What happnened??

The reply comes in fast and chaotic:

breathing?? illegal cant do that shi

how do i pass when i sound like a dying whale

like that HNNNNNNNGGGHH kind

i’m gonna bomb

i’m gonna combust

Mark presses his lips together. Haechan isn’t scared of much—except being left and, well, pretty much every insect.

But why isn’t he saying what’s going on?

Mark’s worry creeps back in.

cal mdown tell me correctly about what hapened???

The next texts come quickly. even more panicked.

what if i just fake an injury
what if i say i got possessed

is vocal demonic possession a valid exemption.

is that on the syllabus

Okay. Syllabus means something related to his major.

Mark puts the pieces together and lands on the most likely culprit: his vocal exam.

He exhales through his nose.

Okay. Okay. This isn’t an emergency.

His fingers tap quickly.

it’s okay

your voice sounds good even when you're yelling at me

youre gon kill ts

TRUSTTT🙏🙏🙏

i believe in u frfr

Haechan doesn’t hesitate.

I DON’T BELIEVE YOUU

YOUR OPINION MEANS NOTHINGGGG

Mark snorts. 

A breath escapes his mouth—part sigh, part laugh, part oh god, he's really scared.

This is new for Mark.

Sure, Haechan is unhinged and dramatic, but he’s also usually pretty put-together.

But this? This spiral?

To Mark, it feels like some weird version of bonding.

Like Haechan’s peeling back a layer and showing something real and it hits Mark right in the chest. And suddenly it feels important that Mark is the one he’s texting through this. That he’s the one Haechan’s unraveling in front of.

Mark blushes. Like, genuinely.

He catches himself smiling down at his phone.

Embarrassed by his own thoughts like a teenage girl.

He twirls his imaginary pigtails. Kicks his mental feet.

Omg… are we bonding rn?
Are we fucking up and forming a meaningful connection??
OH MY GAWWWDDDDD.

Haechan follows with a response.

ok wait no
i’m sorry
You mean so much to mee


i’m just so fuckin scared 
this stupid exam decides like 30% of my minor grade
and this bitch of a prof hates me 💀💀💀💀
he said i 'perform like a k-pop idol at a funeral'
that’s RACIALLY CHARGED DUDEEE
i’m gonna throw up. on stage. and they’ll all clap bc it’s raw

Mark has to pause at the third text.

"You mean so much to me?"

Oh.

Oh.

His heart immediately takes off like a Formula One engine, beating too fast for it to be normal. 

He actually hears a weird crackling sound in his ears and for a second he wonders if that’s his ribs breaking under the weight of “you mean so much to me.”

What the hell.
What the actual fucking hell.

What do you mean I mean so much to you?
When did that happen??
Why did no one inform me, Mark Lee about this development in my own godamnn story??

His ears are so hot he’s genuinely concerned he could fry an egg on them. Or at the very least, warm a slice of pizza. He winces. That sounded like an AI-generated metaphor in a shitty fanfic. God. He’s spiraling. (geninunely only dostoevsky could come up wid ts but then again wha do u compare a burning ear too??)

And then—God help him—he giggles.

He actually giggles.

He has to cover his face with both hands to stop himself and remind himself that he’s at work. Surrounded by people who would absolutely take the smallest—no, fucking quark-sized—weak moment and roast him about it until his dying breath.

So, he quickly flees to the break room bathroom.

Inside the stall, Mark finally scrolls back up. Reads the whole thing again. Slowly this time.

And it hits him:

Oh.

Oh.

He does have an exam.

Mark frowns.

Welp. It’s been two years since Mark even looked at an exam, so he almost forgot that particular taste of existential crisis and just how fucking dreadful and soul-crushingly awful they are.

But this—Haechan’s panic—it’s… a lot.

Too much.

He rereads the message. Again. Haechan’s never like this. Sure, he’s annoyingly dramatic. He’ll scream about slow Wi-Fi. But this feels different. Real.

And Mark hates it.

He doesn’t like seeing Haechan scared. He doesn’t like seeing him doubt himself or question himself. Because Haechan isn’t small. Haechan’s loud. He’s brilliant and absurd and infuriating and unfairly beautiful in Mark's imagination (you dont even know him MARKK STOP THIS MAN).

Seeing him like this?

It’s like watching the sun dim.

Mark presses his phone to his chest for a second. Just breathes. He hadn’t realized how protective he’d gotten. Or maybe he had. Maybe he’s been pretending it’s normal to think about someone this much, care this much, feel this much—

But he doesn’t have time to unpack all that now.

Right now, Haechan needs him.
And Mark’s gonna be a good guy.
A good something. Whatever the hell he is to Haechan.

He exhales and starts typing.

first of all. that prof can go chew drywall.
second. you’re gonna destroy this.
and third. i do mean it. you’re insanely good and i believe in you so hard it’s annoying.

Typing...

and also for the record.
u mean so much to me too.
like. possibly more than u should.

He doesnt send it yet.

And then-

BANG.

The stall door slams open because Mark's gayass forgot to lock it.

Standing in the doorway like a pissed-off final boss is Johnny, arms crossed, brows raised, looming like its Silent hill. (OMG IM SO EXCITED ABOUT SILENT HILL F LIKE AAAAAA)

“Lee Mark.”

Mark’s whole soul leaves his body. “Hyung?” he squeaks, immediately shoving the phone behind his back like he’s hiding contraband.

Johnny glares. “You disappeared from the floor during work hours. I thought you got kidnapped.”

“I— I had to— I’m on a really important—" Mark stammers, voice shrill, trying to stuff his feelings back down his throat. “Bathroom emergency?”

Johnny sighs like he’s aged 47 years in the last minute alone.

And then, without warning, he snatches the phone clean out of Mark’s hands.

Mark yelps. “Hyung—!”

Johnny squints at the screen. Reads the half-written message out loud:

“...you mean so much to me too. like. possibly more than you should.”

Silence.

Johnny looks at him. Then back at the message. Then back at him. Then back at the message again. ANd then back at him again.

“...Are you confessing in a toilet cubicle?”

Mark wants to die.

Actually die.

“Give it back—” he lunges, but Johnny holds the phone out of reach like he’s dealing with an ipad kid. (u got games on yo phone??

“I’m saving you from yourself.” Johnny scrolls a bit, then groans. “Confessing over text? During work? In a bathroom stall?” He shakes his head like he’s physically in pain. “God. You’re not even a little bit normal.”

Mark pouts, flailing uselessly. “Hyung at least let me delete those—”

“I already deleted them,” Johnny deadpans. “You’re welcome.”

Mark gasps. “You’re evil.”

“I’m realistic. Look—just man up, dude. Don’t do this to yourself. A phone confession? Come on. That’s bottom-tier romance.” Johnny then narrows his eyes. “Also is this that guy? That… Chan guy?”

Mark nods, sheepish, hands cupped protectively over his crotch like a scolded kindergartener. Johnny exhales through his nose like a disappointed father. “Have you even met him in real life?”

Mark shakes his head slowly. His bangs flutter slightly with the motion like a japanese visual novel protagonist. (I started playing danganronpa again soo)

Johnny stares at him. “You’re in love with a guy you’ve never met?"

“Not like love or anything…” Mark mumbles.

“Oh my god."

Mark presses his back to the stall wall scared.

"We've talked on the phone before."

Johnny lifts a hand. “Stop. I’m getting chest pain.” He sighs even deeper and Mark actually starts developing daddy issues in real time.

"Why are yu doing this????" He whines.

Johnny rolls his eyes. “Because you’re acting like you’ve never touched grass.”

Mark gasps. “I touch grass. I—I appreciate it from a respectful distance—”

“Don’t do this to yourself, Mark,” Johnny mutters. He pockets the phone and then walks out, muttering, “Jesus. I need a drink.”

---

The rest of Mark’s shift is hell.

Actual hell.

The phone-less variety.

He’s haunted.

Every second feels like twenty years. He keeps reaching into his pocket only to be reminded for the eighth time that his phone is still in Johnny’s possession.

It’s humiliating.

Every few minutes, he corners Johnny like a raccoon who lost his favorite trash bin in his office.

“Hyung. DUDE. MATE Please. Just—JUST one peek. I swear I won’t even text him—”

“No.”

“Just a quick scroll! A thumb flick even PLEASE”

“No.”

“Hyung I think I’m going through withdrawal—”

Johnny doesn’t even look up from his laptop. “You need help.”

Mark groans so hard his soul almost exits his body. His fingers twitch like a Victorian chd with the plague.(need to complete reading yersinia afer this) The longing is unreal.

By the end of the work day, Mark is borderline feral. He’s sweaty, anxious, and visibly vibrating as Johnny finally clocks out, stretches, and strolls over.

Without ceremony, Johnny digs into his pocket, tosses Mark the phone, and mutters under his breath, “Kids and their damn phones." like he's not just 5 years older than Mark.

Mark barely hears him. He’s already unlocking the screen with desperation.

And then he sees them.

The notifications from the Dating S(i)M app- (see haechan is still Mark on that app)

New message from Mark 💬!! Wanna text him back?????💖💖
New message from Mark 💬!! Wanna text him back?????💖💖
Missed call from Mark~~~ You wanna call him?? 🥺 📞
New message from Mark 💬!! Wanna text him back?????💖💖
New message from Mark 💬!! Wanna text him back?????💖💖
New message from Mark 💬!! Wanna text him back?????💖💖
Missed call from Mark~~~ You wanna call him?? 🥺 📞
New message from Mark 💬!! Wanna text him back?????💖💖
New message from Mark 💬!! Wanna text him back?????💖💖

Mark’s heart skips so many beats it qualifies as arrhythmia. (oh no hes having an tachyarrhythmia i cant remember the drugs needed for that was it ccbs or na blockers or beat blockers??)

He opens the thread.

hello?? 
are u okay 
wait did i overshare i’m sorry omg 
DID I LOSE MY AURA POINTS 😩
pls don’t hate me 🙏 i was being annoying i know that 
i knew i was being annoying WHILE i was being annoying but i couldn’t stop 😭😭😭
i’m sorrYYYYYYYY 
i was just scared
not just about the exam
just in general 
i get weird sometimes 
come backkk

Mark snorts seeing the next one-

ARE U FUCKING DEAD??

i miss you already wtf
IM soryyyy
can you pls text me when u see this
or just send like a 🐸 or something i’ll know you’re alive

Mark’s insides feel funny.

He scrolls faster.

you’re not mad at me right? 🥀🥀
i didn’t mean to be a fucking asshole.
i was just panicking and projecting and also maybe possessed a little bit
...do u hate me now
?????????
HELLLOO
i’m sorry sorry sorry i’ll shut up now just come back please please PRETTY PLEASEEE

He types back so fast his thumbs blur.

I wasn’t ignoring you omg
my superior took my phone
its okk
you didn’t overshare
i’m here
you didn’t do anything wrong

The reply is immediate-

wait…
are u sure ur not mad??

Mark smiles.

not mad.
not even a little.
be as weird with me as you want.
i mean it.
there’s literally no normal version of you i prefer.

okay good.
you scared me so bad bb

Mark almost misses his bus.

Getting inside he sees another message.

don’t do that again pls
my heart’s fragile. like a hamster.

noted. no more disappearing.
unless johnny physically rips my phone away again.

btw.
you are gonna do great on your exam.
i trust you. your voice is sick.
like literally top-tier.

nuuuuuuuu
i don’t think so.

Mark snorts.

Taking a page out of Jaemin’s Official And Effective Handbook for Horny Comfort Texts™ : Volume 7, Special Edition: “Play It Cool and Nonchalant",  Mark channels every part of Jaemin’s chaotic nature and types:

okay well. if you ace the exam…
i’ll send u a body pic of anything.

As soon as he sends it, he regrets it.

He types furiously with implying it as a joke.

LMAOOO IM KIDDING
unless
nah jk
unless

😳

His screen stays frozen for a moment. Then—

oh.

Mark gulps.

aight. bet.
prepare ur dick 📸 bb
daddy's gonna ace ts

Mark short-circuits.

Literally.

AECHAN????
I MEANT LIKE. A SELFIE.
OR LIKE.
MY TOES.
IDK. 
NOT THAT.

you said “anything!!!!”
that’s legally binding man.

i didn’t sign shit!

you signed with your heart, baby.
and your pants.
Shi get them off rn cause I will do so damn good at this.

??????????
WAIT

i was JOKIN DUDE

like actual genuine full capital letters

JK pls

i can’t afford therapy right now

bb i gotta study now 😚
if i’m gonna earn that pic, i need to rehearse like my life depends on it

Mark stares.

Just stares.

Then immediately lowers his phone to his lap, hand clapped over his mouth as a completely involuntary giggle escapes his lips. He tries to hold it in. He tries to act normal.

He fails.

A full, embarrassingly breathy laugh bubbles out of him. He ducks his head fast, biting his lip so hard it might leave a dent

He lifts the phone again, types:

ur unbelievable.
and also disgusting.
and also i’m smiling like a freak rn and it’s your fault.

good 😌
ur prettiest when ur thinking about being naked for me anyways

Mark chokes.

Actually chokes.

He has to cough into his elbow just to survive.

and keep that camera charged
i want a high-res masterpiece when i win
bye babyy~~

-----

Mark is glowing.

There’s no other word for it.

He’s smiling like a lunatic with his thumb swiping up, then down, then up again as he rereads Haechan’s messages for the third time.

His grin is deranged.

He's beaming, practically bouncing in his seat. His knees jiggle. His lips twitch in silent laughter. Every few seconds, he lets out a weird little breathy wheeze that can’t decide if it’s a laugh or a swoon.

He’s on a public bus.

A very crowded public bus.

And people are staring.

But Mark doesn’t care.

His whole face is flushed pink, but he can’t wipe the stupid grin off.

Because Haechan is insane.
Because he is insane.
Because apparently offering dick pics for academic success is his new low.

The bus passengers are concerned.

The man sitting next to him is holding his briefcase tight against him.
The woman across from him is whispering something to her friend while glancing at him with deep concern.

Still, Mark notices none of it.

He's got the goofiest, softest, most “I just got kissed behind the school bleachers” look on his face. The corner of his mouth twitches up again as he rereads:

prepare ur dick 📸 bb
daddy's gonna ace ts

He covers his face with one hand, ears burning so bad they could power a toaster. ( me and my ear comparisons~~)

His whole chest feels warm and floaty and fluffy and goddamn it, he should be panicking about work deadlines or pretending to be an adult.

Someone behind him whispers, “Is he okay?”

Someone else goes, “He’s been smiling at his phone for fifteen minutes. What could possibly be that funny?”

The old lesbian goes "He's probably trying and also suceeding in getting some dick."

Chapter Text

Mark is at work. Again.
Of course he is. It's all he has.

It’s not that he hates working. God, no. He earned this job—every fucking inch of it. No nepotism, no shady handshakes, no uncle sneaking his resume into a manila folder and absolutely no trading his body for favors.
(Well except for that one time but that was because the hr girl was stupid hot, not because he wanted the job.)

He studied like a man possessed, trained harder than was humanly reasonable and clawed his way up a few respectable rungs on the corporate ladder fueled solely by kimchi jjigae, Red Bull and the unholy union of ramen and vodka.

The money’s good, the hours are tolerable and most of the time he actually likes it here. Being productive keeps his head straight. (Well, Mark and straight..... sure.) Usually.

But not today.

Because ever since Johnny Suh caught him that one time that one fucking time (it was literally a week ago) , Mark’s ego has been in pieces. Now work feels like goddamn prison. And the wardens? Johnny and fucking Jungwoo.

Together, they’ve made it their full time hobby to roast Mark in oblivion 

Mark tries to keep his head down, eyes on his monitor, fingers typing with the calm precision of someone definitely not plotting a double homicide. He’s got reports to finish. Budgets to check. Interns to manage. He doesn’t have time for—

“Mark-yahhhhh~!” Johnny’s voice sings from behind him, loud enough to make his soul leave his body. Mark doesn’t look up. Of course. Of fucking course.
“Just making sure I don’t catch you confessing your feelings to someone on company time, alright?”

There it is. Ten a.m. On the dot. His daily humiliation.

Mark finally looks up, slow as molasses, mouth pressed into the kind of unimpressed line that could cut glass. Johnny’s standing in front of the interns’ desks like some fuckass game show host, arms flung wide.

“I mean,” Johnny continues, eyes twinkling, “we wouldn’t want a heartbreak here now, would we???”

A few interns chuckle nervously. One of them Riku giggles. Giggles. The sound is high pitched, delighted like he’s just been handed a puppy.

Mark swivels in his chair and gives Riku a look so sharp it could strip paint. The sound dies instantly. Riku snaps his gaze back to his mousepad, clicking randomly at nothing. His cheeks glow nuclear red.

Johnny’s grin somehow gets wider.

And then comes fuckass Jungwoo, sipping from his coffee like he’s a bystander to a car crash he secretly caused. “You know,” he says mildly, “it’s always the quiet ones.”

“Oh, so true,” Johnny agrees, clapping Jungwoo on the shoulder like they’re co hosts. “One minute they’re filing reports, next minute they’re in the janitor’s closet crying over someoen they've never even met.”

Mark exhales slowly. One… two… three beats. His fingertips drum against the desk. He could annihilate them. He knows everything about this office. Johnny’s secret hookups with Ten from HR. His little fling with the CEO’s son, Doyoung. Jungwoo’s situationship with Jaehyun, the golden boy of Marketing. And so much more.

One sentence and he could scorch the earth. Cause a big fucking fight.

But they’re his friends. His idiotic and drama thriving hyungs. He also kinda loves them but he'd rather die than say that.

And also because, completely uninvited, Haechan’s voice slides into his head like it owns the place. Lazy, smug and warm in that infuriating way. That conversation about Mark's job is like a safe place for Mark.

“Don’t get yourself fired for those clowns, babieee. You’re smarter than that. Plus, if you get fired, who’s gonna earn to support us and our babies?”

“Since when did I become a mother haechan-ah?”

“wAIT did you just out yourself as having a breeding kink??”

“Shut up, you know that’s not what I meant.”

“Oh my god, you support mpreg?? Honestly i get it......."

“Haechan. Please stop.”

“Nooo, we need to get you pregnant~~”

Mark squeezes his eyes shut. Inhale. Exhale. It’s stupid but it works, the ridiculousness of Haechan’s voice tugging him back from the edge like some bizarre emotional lifeline.

And where the hell is Seungjae?

His supposed team lead, the great Senior Manager of “Workflow Optimization” and “Internal Morale” whatever teh fuck any of those even mean, is unsurprisingly nowhere. Probably hiding in the break room, phone pressed to his ear, nodding sagely to the dial tone while scrolling through his fantasy football league. The man has all the leadership qualities of a damp sock. Mark gave up on backup from him months ago. If Seungjae was a fire extinguisher, he’d be decorative.

But fine. Mark has survived worse. Nastier bosses. Deadlines so tight they made his teeth ache. He’s swum in hotter water than this.
He’s not going to let anything crawl inside his head.

AND ALSO He wasn’t confessing to Haechan back then...

…wait.

…Was he?

Mark blinks at his monitor and oh no. His ears are already warm. No. Nope. Not going there.

Haechan is… Haechan.
The kinda friend accquiantance who is and this cannot be fucking stressed enough is also actively catfishing as Mark on a dating site.

And because Haechan is a menace, when he’s pretending to be “Mark,” he’ll casually drop in wanting to know huge he is well in this case “Jaemin” is cause Jaemin is Mark’s fucking catfish identity on the same damn site.

It’s like some twisted romantic ouroboros of lying.
 Haechan is pretending to be Mark. Mark is pretending to be Jaemin. 
And in the middle of it, Haechan the “Mark” keeps talking about Jaemin’s frankly obscene dick size, which..... yeah. Mark can unfortunately confirm that Jaemin is packing an industrial grade monster, because he’s seen it (locker room incident, long story, Mark clenches his asshole at the thought).

Mark thought he was big until that day. And honestly, he’s still not sure how any one human being could survive that thing unless they’ve trained for it which, come to think of it, might explain why Jaemin’s always only in orgies and threesomes.

Ok that's nough.

Enough about Jaemin’s terrifying anatomy.

The point is: Haechan doesn’t really know Mark. Not in the real, personal, soul deep way.
…Except he also kind of does.

He’s the guy who sends Mark cursed memes at 2 a.m. The guy who knows exactly how he takes his coffee without asking. The guy who hears Mark’s voice over the phone and can tell instantly if he’s had a bad day.

He knows Mark always eats the red Skittles first.  He knows Mark has three different playlists for brushing his teeth, that he can’t fall asleep unless there’s some kind of background noise, even if it’s just a podcast he’s not really listening.

Haechan knows that Mark hums without realizing when he’s focused, that he tilts his head a little before he laughs, that he only ever takes pictures of skies and suns, never selfies. He knows the silly, special little things no one should know from just calls and texts… and yet he does.

Mark’s jaw clenches.

No. Absolutely not. He cannot be in love with a man who is currently catfishing him back in an elaborate, mutually destructive online bit they’ve both been running for month.

Please, God, don’t do this to poor old Mark.
I even go to mass!!!

He hunches over his spreadsheet, fingers flying.
“Fuck this job. Fuck Seungjae. And fuck Johnny Suh, especially,” he mutters, low and venomous.

Not that it matters. Because somewhere in the back of his brain, Haechan is already laughing about this imaginary confession, voice warm  like he’s always been right about Mark’s feelings.

“That’s my kitten. So scary. So hot.”

Mark survives the minute without committing a felony but the second Johnny and Jungwoo clear the doorway, his phone’s already in his hand, thumbs moving like muscle memory.

It’s not that he needs to tell Haechan.
It’s just that nothing feels real until Haechan laughs at it.

Your favorite clowns performed the 10 a.m. show againnn

And you didn’t do anythingg?
Growth.
my little old ball of gas.
im soo prouddd

Im one year oldr than you

OLD as FUCKK!!!
also breathe.
and maybe tell your bb the reason?

Nope i wont

cowarddd

idc

I hate u......
Btw
Lunch at 1?
I’ll call
Got some newsss

yup yupp

-----

Mark just wants to piss in peace. That’s all.

It’s bad enough his job feels like a cursed sitcom with him as the unwilling main character and now even the fucking bathroom isn’t safe.

The urinals are quiet. The stalls are empty. For the first time all morning, it’s blessedly still. He exhales, eyes closing, letting his head tip forward toward the cool tile. Finally, solitude.

Footsteps.

Mark’s shoulders tense but maybe it’s fine. Maybe it’s someone normal.

And then—

“Don’t go confessing to a guy in here, Markkk,” Jungwoo sings as he breezes past, close enough that the air shifts. Like this is his living room like Mark’s not in the middle of taking a leak.

Mark’s eyelid twitches. He doesn’t even look over. Just stares blankly at the wall in front of him, voice low, flat, venom soft:
“One day. One fucking day without this shit. That’s all I ask.”

But noooooo apparently the harassment package comes with full bathroom coverage. No goddamn refunds.

By the time he’s washed his hands and shoved the door open, his temples are pounding. He’s barely made it three steps into the break room before chaos finds him again.

-----

And then it gets worse.

Mark is halfway through stabbing a fork into his damn poutine like the sickly sad little canadian he is when Minjeong from HR swoops in like she’s breaking a celebrity scandal.

“Oppa!” she gasps, clutching her phone. “I didn’t know you were out here confessing your heart in toilets?! Is this what rock bottom looks like??”

Mark freezes mid bite. “…Minjeong.”

But she’s already on a roll.

“Not the office romance era,” she groans, collapsing into the chair opposite him like she’s personally wounded. “What’s next? Crying in the printer room? Writing poetry on post it notes and hiding them in the fridge?”

Before Mark can recover, Jimin appears out of nowhere. Coffee in one hand, bagel in the other.

“I knew something was off,” she says with a sage nod. “You’ve had that weird fag glow lately.”

Mark opens his mouth to deny everything.

“Don’t deny it!” Minjeong cuts in. “Apparently you’ve been confessing feelings to people you don’t even know. Blink twice if you need to be rebaptized.”

Jimin leans against the counter, sipping her coffee. “Want me to take you to church? Pastor Sunghyun could do a special sermon called ‘Don’t Propose in the Restroom, Mark. ’ or maybe 'Dont confess to someone you've never met, Mark'.”

Mark pinches the bridge of his nose, already praying for divine intervention. “I’m going to kill Johnny.”

“Oh, Johnny didn’t even tell me!” Minjeong gasps, delighted. “Riku did. Poor kid said you glared at him so hard he forgot how to use Excel.”

Mark stares at his poutine. He imagines an eagle swooping through the window, grabbing him by the shoulders and carrying him far, far away to then drop him directly into an active volcano. That would be preferable to this conversation.

“I hate it here,” he mutters.

“Love it here,” Minjeong chirps, already standing. “Let us know when the wedding is! We’ll bring gifts and trauma!”

Make sure it’s catered,” Jimin adds, raising her coffee in salute. “We don’t do scandal unless there’s cake.”

Mark sighs like a man ten years older, stabbing his fork into the limp, over salted fries with a bit too much force. His so called fucking lunch sits in front of him. Fries shouldn’t be this soggy and his life shouldn’t be this ridiculous.

At 1:15, his phone lights up with the kind of obnoxiously sparkly notification that makes his stomach twist for entirely too many reasons:

Mark Lee calling~~~ ❤❤❤🥰🥰🥺🥺🥺
Wanna pick up? 🥺💗

Mark blinks, then smiles despite himself. “Forgot he was calling,” he murmurs, already swiping to answer.

“HIIIIIIIIIIII!!!”

Mark’s brain short circuits. It’s not just loud, it’s fucking bright. It’s like Haechan reached through the phone and switched on every light in his body at once. Every sharp, petty feeling he’d been nursing about the catfishing thing evaporates like mist on asphalt. Gone. Dead. Buried.  Like what catfishing thing???

“Jesus Christ!!!!!!!!!” Mark flinches so hard his fork clatters onto the tray. He’s covering his ear but he’s smiling like an idiot.

“Oh nooo, I’m sowrrrrry!!” Haechan gasps but he’s clearly not sorry. Not even a little bit.

Mark slumps in his seat, grinning into his hand.

“Anywaysssssss!” Haechan barrels on, bright and bubbling. “I have good news and amazing news, just for me thooo~!”

Mark chuckles, leaning back, every inch of him melting into the chair like he’s been reduced to warm pudding. “Which one do I get first, then?”

“Which one do you want first, bb?” Haechan purrs.

And just like that, Mark’s heart is a kicked vending machine, rattling in his ribs, coughing up feelings it absolutely shouldn’t. The bb lands too easily, too naturally like Haechan hasn’t just thrown a grenade into Mark’s chest cavity.

Mark hums like he’s thinking about it. Cause of course, Haechan never gives normal options. Always turns everything into a cute little game like Mark isn’t already down so bad he’d pick any answer that gets him ten more seconds of conversation.

He’s been conditioned at this point. Haechan has trained him like a well loved housecat. Mark now treats every ridiculous question like it’s a multiple choice exam. And honestly? He enjoys it. 

"Good news?"

“Okaayyy~” Haechan giggles and Mark’s whole body goes soft in that dangerous, you-could-use-me-as-a-pillow way. There’s just that voice, that giggle and the way it makes him feel like gravity’s a suggestion and Haechan’s the only solid thing holding him up.

Haechan hums slightly..

And that sound God. Mark actually sees static. It's so pretty he wants to scream. It’s not even fair. His heart plummets, dramatically like it’s had enough of this and would rather fling itself out of his chest and land obediently at Haechan’s feet like: use me as a stress ball, I live to serve.

Mark grips the front of his shirt because he’s literally seconds away from keeling over.

“The good news is…” Haechan pauses for effect and Mark swears he can hear the smirk. “I got the spot in the crew I told you about!!”

Mark’s out of his chair before his brain catches up. “WAIT, FOR REAL?!”

“Mhmm!!!” Haechan squeals, bright as champagne bubbles. “YES! I CAN’T BELIEVE IT EITHER!!”

Mark’s grinning so wide it’s embarrassing. He’s clapping like actually clapping fucking alone at the break table, surrounded by coworkers who now know he’s a lovesick fool. His chest feels so full he might burst; his heart’s doing double backflips; the world has reduced to a single beam of golden light shaped like Haechan.

The clock on his phone ticks over to 1:30.

End of break.

Mark stares at the clock. He blinks once, twice and then mentally punts that shit into the sun. His boss can put “too busy being in love” on his termination letter.

“Okay,” he breathes, leaning closer to the phone like it’s physically possible to crawl into Haechan’s voice. “Now tell me the amazing news.”

There’s a pause. A faint inhale. Then Haechan drops into that dangerous, slow tone like honey.

“I got an A in my vocal exam~~~”

Mark lights up instantly. “Yo, WHAT?! That’s amazing! I knew you.....”

“Which,” Haechan cuts in sweetly, “means I get to see your dih~~”

Silence.

Mark freezes midsmile, the expression glitching. His brain blue screens. His heart is trying to physically vacate the premises.

“You what?????”

“I EARNED IT,” Haechan declares, beaming through the phone. “I bled for that grade, Mark. Do you know what it’s like to be judged for breathing too loud by a panel of uptight baritones in matching blazers? My diaphragm’s been through fucking WAR.”

Mark pinches the bridge of his nose. “What kind of depraved Pavlovian rewards chart are you running?”

“I sang my entire heart out,” Haechan argues, unbothered. “And now my reward is you. Pantsless. Ideally with three point lighting and maybe a smoke machine if you can swing it. ”

“You talk about me like I’m a rare Pokémon you unlock with GPA points.”

“Exactly,” Haechan says without shame. “You’re my shiny legendary dick Pokémon.”

Mark groans, scrubbing a hand down his face like he can wipe away the conversation. “How do I even know you actually got an A?”

Haechan gasps like Mark just stabbed him. “Are you accusing me… of academic fraud?”

Mark whispers bending down underneath the table “You’re literally extorting nudes in exchange for grades, soooooo YES.”

“I will send you proof RIGHT NOW,” Haechan huffs, suddenly all righteous indignation.

Mark’s phone dings.

It’s barely fucking legible. A blurry pic, exactly what he expected from Haechan’s cracked ass screen protector and camera lens that's been rubbed with thumb grease since 2022. Still, through the fog, he can just about make out the logo for Seoul University, a student number - 22SUDVCR214 and a column that proudly displays:

‘Vocal Performance IV – A’

The rest? Static and vibes. The top has a faint “Lee,” which is probably Haechan’s surname or possibly proof he’s been moonlighting as one of the other fifteen hundred thousand Lees Mark knows.

“So??” Haechan drawls, smugness radiating through the receiver like wifi.

Mark hums, pretending to study it. “Could be a forgery. The font looks suspicious.”

A scandalized gasp. “Did you just call my magnum opus a Photoshop job?”

“Could be Canva,” Mark says, voice as dry as the Gobi. “You’ve been getting better with those fake concert posters. Remember the twice ones??”

“HEYYYY.” Haechan’s groan is so theatrical that Mark has to tilt the phone away before it bursts his eardrum. “I am a gifted vocalist, not a graphic designer. Why would I fake a grade I earned with blood, sweat and a near nervous breakdown over vowel placement?”

Mark’s mouth twitches and he can hear it now, the actual pride under all that complaining. The bone deep exhaustion. The smug satisfaction.

Mark leans back on the couch, forcing his voice to stay casual. “Alright, maybe it’s real. Not saying I’m proud or anything.”

“You’re totally proud,” Haechan fires back immediately. “You love me.”

Mark exhales, smile tugging at his lips despite himself. “…You did great.” And he means it so much it actually hurts a little.

There’s a small pause before Haechan’s voice brightens, sing song and smug again. “Thank you. Aaaand you know what that means.”

Mark groans. “You are not about to ask that again....”

“Yup,” Haechan cuts in cheerfully. “You’re my god tier loot drop. I can't not take thisss.”

Mark scrubs a hand over his face, laughing under his breath. “That is not negotiable.”

“So…” Haechan draws it out. “I trained for this. I leveled up. Now cough up the pic.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re hot,” Haechan says like it’s just an objective fact, “so cough it up, champ.”

Mark swears he’s not smiling. (He’s absolutely smiling.)

“You’re insufferable,” he mutters, soft in a way that gives him away entirely.

“And you’re in love with how insufferable I am,” Haechan says triumphantly. “AND YOU WANT MORE PROOF? FINE. I’LL GET YOU MORE PROOF.”

Mark hears a sudden burst of noise on Haechan’s end, some footsteps, a door creaking, someone being dragged into a room. Then a new voice, startled and deeply confused:

“Waittttt how the hell is this still alive? No, owwwwwww what the fu—okay, okay, OKAY fine, I’ll talk OWWWW I SAID I'LL FUCKING TALK”

Mark sits up a little straighter.

The voice returns, breathless: “Hello hellooo. Roll number 22SU—OKAY OKAY I WON’T SAY MY ROLL NUMBER, JESUS. My name is Ch—OKAY I WON’T SAY MY NAME EITHER, GODDAMN IT, HYUNG.”

Hyung. Someone younger.

Mark’s grin splits so wide it actually hurts his cheeks. His chest is buzzing, his whole body vibrating with it like this is it. This is the first time he’s ever gotten to meet someone from Haechan’s world. Not just the disembodied voice on the other end of a call, not just texts, not just the version of Haechan that belongs only to him. This is proof that Haechan is real, tethered to real people, real life.

“Anywayssss,” the kid blurts, “I can confirm he did get an A in his vocal performance class and he’s been unbearable about it, so could you please just show your dic—OW! HYUNG!! That’s literally what you said you wanted!!”

There’s a sharp thump, followed by a muffled shriek.

Mark chokes on a laugh, curling over the couch cushion, one hand half covering his face. “Did you just??? Like what the hell is happening over there?”

“Nothing,” Haechan replies sweetly, far too sweetly.

Mark snorts, still grinning when he hears Haechan again, now low and coaxing. “Sooo? Come on, baby. Give the people what they want.”

Mark bites his lip.

He thinks maybe. (read this in elijah wood's voice pls)
It’d be blurry. Artistic. An angle with lighting. Strategic shadow. Something.

He could do it. Just this once.

He’s almost convinced to do it.

And then a hand lands on his shoulder.

Mark startles, jerking the phone to his chest like a guilty teenager.

He looks up. One of the department guys, someone he doesn’t really know that well, is blinking at him with a polite smile.

“Hey. There’s a meeting starting. You coming?”

Mark curses silently, tucks the phone face down into his lap. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m on my way.”

The guy nods and walks off. Mark exhales hard.

He fumbles for the phone. “Haechan-ah, I gotta call you back.......”

“You liar!” Haechan yells before he can hang up. “You’re deflecting! You were thinking about it, I KNOW YOU WERE—”
There’s a pause, the faint sound of his breath hitching.
“Wait… Mark? Are you angr—”

Click.

Mark already shoving his phone deep into his pocket it almost burn a hole straight through, heading for the office with his pulse still racing and Haechan’s voice still ringing in his head.

////////

Mark steps out of the building, shoulders tight. The second he’s past the sliding doors, he pulls out his phone.

Missed call from Mark~~~ You wanna call him?? 🥺 📞
New message from Mark 💬!! Wanna text him back?????💖💖
New message from Mark 💬!! Wanna text him back?????💖💖
Missed call from Mark~~~ You wanna call him?? 🥺 📞
New message from Mark 💬!! Wanna text him back?????💖💖
New message from Mark 💬!! Wanna text him back?????💖💖
New message from Mark 💬!! Wanna text him back?????💖💖
New message from Mark 💬!! Wanna text him back?????💖💖
New message from Mark 💬!! Wanna text him back?????💖💖
New message from Mark 💬!! Wanna text him back?????💖💖
.
.
.
.
.

Mark’s heart doesn’t just skip a beat, it just throws itself down the stairs.
It detaches from his ribcage, performs a triple pirouette and launches into the stratosphere screaming "BABY!" at the top of its lungs.

His thumb moves before he even thinks about it, unlocking the phone like muscle memory. His hands tremble. His mouth does a dumb little smile he’d physically throw Jaemin out a window for noticing.

He reads the first message:

U GONNA IGNORE ME NOW??? 😭😭😭
OMG I DESERVE IT I KNOW BUT ALSO IM BABY 😖💔

Mark sighs, dreamily. Like, really dreamily. Like the kind of sigh you’d expect from a man leaning against a balcony in a 19th century romance novel after reading his lover’s letter.

You are. You’re literally the babiest baby alive. My baby. My problem. My emotional parasite. The reason my brain is mush and I smile at garbage cans now. You’re God you’re the babiest fucking baby in the universe and I want to hold you like you’re tangren.

He actually considers kissing his screen. Then remembers he’s in public. Then considers it again.

It doesn’t help with the next message

Okay but seriously babie
BABYEEEEEEE

Oh. Oh no.
That spelling is dangerous. That spelling is a weapon. That spelling has killed men.

Mark actually clutches the phone to his chest, standing there on the pavement while cars zoom by and tries not to melt into the concrete.

This is it. This is his villain origin story. This is the moment he officially becomes stupid and a damn fool.

I’m sorryyyyyyyy 😭😭😭
I was JOKINGGGG
LIKE. BAD JOKE. BAD DUMB FUCKING HORNY JOKE.

I’M THROWING MYSELF IN THE RIVER NOW
wait no i can’t swim

Mark laughs out loud, helpless. People look. He doesn’t care.

I SWEAR I DON’T WANNA SEE YOUR DIH
OKAY THAT’S A LIE
I DO
A LITTLE
okay a lot
BUT NOT LIKE THAT
NOT FOR GRADE BASED REWARD SYSTEMS

Mark makes a noise that no living breathing human being should ever make over someoen catfishing as them. He bites his lip so hard he tastes blood.

No one in the world is like Lee Haechan. No one else has this exact psychotic ratio of thirst, sincerity, clinginess and emotional terrorism.

And Mark is so in love it makes his ribs ache.
So. In. Love.
He’s in stupid bitch levels of love.
The kind of love where even the idea of Haechan impersonating him online doesn’t register as betrayal, it registers as adorable

AND!!!!!!!!
I’M NOT AN ACADEMICALLY MOTIVATED PERVERT.

Mark presses a hand over his mouth to smother the laugh that’s bubbling up, the kind of helpless, breathless noise that would get him thrown out of public spaces.
You are literally the most academically motivated pervert I’ve ever met, he thinks, dazed and stupidly fond.
And then, uninvited: I want to give you everything. I want to buy you dinner and kiss your whole face and say yes to every dumb reward system you make up.

Okay I am but NOT WHEN UR MAD.

Mark whimpers.
He actually whimpers. In public.
He’s not mad. He was never mad.
God if anything, it would be a privilege for Haechan to even want to see his dick.

And here he is....
In the middle of traffic.
Phone clutched.
Face on fire.
Heart pounding like a bad dubstep remix.

He caves immediately. Calls him back.
The line doesn’t even make it through one ring before—

“PLEASE DON’T BE ANGRYYY,” Haechan blurts, voice pitched high, messy, almost breaking.

Mark shoves a knuckle between his teeth as he pushes through the gate to his apartment building.
The security guard doesn’t even blink just sighs like this is a weekly occurrence cause it actually is.

“DUDE the same guy again?” he asks dryly.

Mark nods, flushed but grinning like an idiot. “Yeah...…” rubbing his neck

Earbud in. Steps slow on the stairwell.
“I’m not mad, okay? I told you I had a meeting, didn’t I?”

“The phuck you didn’t,” Haechan shoots back but his voice cracks halfway through.

Mark stops mid step.
That crack. That little tremor.
It hits him like a gut punch.
He’s just as gone. Just as stupid. Just as tethered.
Oh my God, he likes me like I like him.

Wait this is the first time im admitting I like him.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry then,” Mark murmurs, one hand twitching at his side, the other spinning his earphones in slow loops like they’re Haechan’s hair.

There’s a pause. A breath.

“Anyways,” Haechan says, softer now, “please tell me you’re not mad. I sound like a fucking clingy bear but fuck don’t tell me you’re done with me.”

Mark’s heart folds in on itself like a dying star.
He’s not just not mad.
He’s sunk so far under he’s basically making eye contact with the Mariana Trench's Megalodon.
If drowning in this was an Olympic sport, he’d take gold, silver and bronze.

His voice drops to a whisper like even the stairwell walls might gossip about him if they overheard.
“I’m not mad, Haechannie. I swear. I....kinda like actually like it when you’re uh clingy.” he whispers the last bit of words.

There’s a tiny pause and then a delighted giggle explodes through the line, so bright and high pitched Mark swears he feels it in his teeth.

“Oh my god,” Haechan coos, drawing the syllables out like he’s petting the words, “you’re so shy. That’s so fucking hot.”

Mark groans, dragging a hand down his face because of course this  man is a fucking menace.
He keeps twirling the earphone cord anyway, winding it tighter around his finger like it’s a curl of Haechan’s hair.

“I do wanna say sorry though,” Haechan blurts suddenly, breath tripping over itself in his rush. “About the dick—I MEAN the uh genital pics like, I was joking, okay? I’m not some creepy pervert.”

Mark snorts so hard it nearly chokes him. “Oh yeah? Then what are you?”

There’s zero hesitation, just pure, shameless pride:
“A consent seeking pervert, obviously.”

Mark barks out a laugh so loud it echoes in the stairwell, slapping a hand over his mouth like that’s going to help. His eyes are crinkled, his chest is tight and his whole body is collapsing in on itself under the sheer force of oh my god, I’m in love with you, you stupid adorable disaster.

They slip into that easy rhythm again, bouncing from one topic to another. Haechan’s recounting how he spent the morning “accidentally” missing class (“attendance is a social construct, don’t quote me”), then hiding in a supply closet for forty minutes because one of his friends “radiates toxic energy.”

“You’d love them,” he adds cheerfully. “They’re just like me but evil .”

Mark groans. “That’s literally the last thing I need is three of you.”

“Correction: three of me and all of us hotter than anything youve seen.”

“Wow.” Mark pinches the bridge of his nose. “Self esteem so high it’s poisoning the ozone layer.”

“Not my fault I’m fucking perfect.” Haechan smirks through the line.

“Anyway, what tragic tales do you bring from Corporate Hell today?”

Mark launches into it immediately, describing his meeting with the kind of melodrama most people reserve for funerals. “If Minsoo says the phrase ‘synergy boost’ one more time, I swear I’m going to fling myself out a window.”

Haechan gasps, mock horrified. “Not synergy boost.” like he knows the terms. (he doesnt)

“And then Junghyun who is not my boss, by the way decides to tell me my slide deck needs more flair. Flair. Like?????.”

There’s a long, contemplative hum on the other end. “You know what you sound like right now?”

Mark braces. “I don’t think I want to know.”

Haechan hums softly. “All tight and huffy. A cranky little kitten all puffed up, hissing, swatting at anything that moves. Your voice even gets this sharp little edge like you’re about to claw someone’s face off. It’s so fucking cute.”

Mark frowns, cheeks burning. “It’s not cute, it’s—”

“Adorable,” Haechan cuts in immediately, wicked grin audible through the line. “Also? Kind of like a golden retriever too. The type that’s two seconds away from humping the couch cushion just to burn off the pent up energy.”

Mark chokes. “What the dude, what the actual fuck?????”

“I’m just saying,” Haechan drawls, stretching out every syllable like he knows exactly what he’s doing, “you sound really really reallyyyyy pent up. And not just about work.”

“Haechan,” Mark warns but it comes out thin, unsteady.

“Don’t ‘Haechan’ me.” His voice drops a little, playful but low, a curl of heat under the teasing. “You’re wound up tighter than my supply closet hiding spots. Bet if I poked you, you’d—” he makes a soft popping sound with his lips, giggling, “—burst.”

Mark pinches the bridge of his nose, because holy fuck, he’s not imagining it anymore.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m right,” Haechan shoots back immediately, bright and merciless. “You’ve been whining all day, twisting that cord like it’s gonna choke you out. You’re so pent up it’s making me itchy.”

Mark exhales, shaky, a laugh trying to disguise itself in his throat but coming out closer to a groan. “You can’t just say shit like that.”

“Oh, I can.” There’s the sound of a creak like Haechan shifting against something, voice going lazy, smug. “And judging by how you sound right now, you kinda want me to.”

Mark drags a hand down his face. He should hang up. He should. But instead he swallows hard, the word scraping raw out of his throat:

“This is—” His voice cracks, all breathless and uneven and he wants to blame it on the stairwell echo but knows better. “This is not a normal conversation.”

There’s a beat of silence and then Haechan sighs dramatically, all faux patience.

“Sweetheart,” he says like he’s offering a solution instead of setting him on fire, “you need help.”

Mark bristles. “I don’t!!!!”

“No, you do.” Haechan cuts him off without mercy, voice dropping again into that husky, drawling lilt that makes Mark’s spine snap straight. “You need to get off. Right now. Like, hang up, jerk off, whatever. Or I could....” he pauses, deliberate, grin sharp enough to cut.

Mark freezes. His whole body goes taut, ears ringing, heat flooding his face like he’s been doused in gasoline.

“What, what the fuck, no...... absolutely not!” His voice cracks halfway through, way too high-pitched to be dignified. “You can’t just… oh my god, you’re insane…”

His voice climbs higher, breaking with every word. “I’m not… this is not… I’m hanging up!”

“Babe…” Haechan’s laugh is wicked and bright like he knew this would happen all along.

“Goodbye!” Mark yells, nearly shrieking it and slams the call ended.

The screen goes black.

Ok.......

Maybe I do actually like him...... What the fuck is wrong with me

"Am I fucking stupid..." Mark mumbles to himself to himself as he opens the door.

Renjun is chewing some popcorn on the floor as he says "I don't know the context but i agree!!!!" 

Mark whines " Fuck offfff"

Jaemin adds in, taking his apron off. "Its true. Mark oppa you've been stupid for about 25 years."

"IM LIKE 26 NOW THAT DOESNT EVEN MAKE FUCKING SENSEEEE!!!!!!!!"