Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter Three

"Each generation must, out of relative obscurity, discover its mission, fulfill it, or betray it."

The Wretched of the Earth by Frantz Fanon

Haechan had spent the past hour staring at his laptop, the cursor blinking mockingly at him. His article draft for the Philippine Collegian was already halfway done, but his mind refused to cooperate. Every time he tried to focus, his thoughts kept circling back to one thing—

Or rather, one person .

Putangina, why was Mark Lee still in his head?

He groaned, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his face. He could still hear Mark’s voice from the debate—smooth, calculated, and infuriatingly composed. “The law is not inherently biased, but the people implementing it are. So instead of tearing it down, shouldn’t we be holding them accountable?”

It had been a good argument.

Haechan hated that it had been a good argument.

"Hoy."

A pillow smacked him in the face.

"Putangina, Jeno!" He peeled it off, glaring at his friend, who was lounging on Haechan’s bed with a bag of chips.

Jeno snickered. "Dude, kanina ka pa nakatulala. Huwag mong sabihing iniisip mo na naman si—"

"HINDI," Haechan snapped before he could even say it.

Renjun, sitting cross-legged on the floor with his laptop, hummed. "Hmm. Defensive."

"I am NOT defensive!"

"Okay, sige, babe," Renjun said in the most patronizing tone possible, barely holding back a smirk.

Jeno leaned over, peering at Haechan’s screen. "Anong sinusulat mo?"

"Article ko for Philippine Collegian ." Haechan sighed, pushing his laptop toward them. "About tuition hikes. Kasi putangina, wala na talagang awa ‘tong admin. Saan ba nila gustong kumuha ng pangbayad ‘yung mga estudyanteng nagtitipid na nga sa pagkain?"

Jeno whistled lowly, scrolling through the draft. "Damn. Diretsahan ‘to, Chan."

"As it should be," Haechan muttered. "Kailangan nilang marinig ‘to."

Renjun read over his shoulder and grinned. "Aba. So, journalism versus the system. Sounds familiar."

Haechan frowned. "Ano na naman ‘yang pinapalabas mo?"

Renjun smirked. "Baka may isa pang Atenistang magreact dito."

Haechan scowled. "Tangina, wala siyang pake sa—"

A loud ping cut him off. Jeno glanced at his phone and smirked. " Philippine Collegian just posted your article." He turned the screen toward Haechan. "Guess we’ll find out if Mark Lee really doesn’t care."

Haechan rolled his eyes, grabbing his own phone to check the comments. It had only been up for five minutes, but the engagement was already high. Students were either praising the article or arguing in the replies.

Then he saw it.

A familiar name in the comments.

Mark Lee: "Interesting perspective. But I think you're missing some key legal considerations."

Haechan almost dropped his phone.

Putangina.

Renjun burst out laughing. "Babe, wala pang ten minutes."

Jeno shook his head in amusement. "Mukhang may pake nga siya."

Haechan groaned. "Bwisit."

And somehow, he knew—this was far from over.

**

Mark wasn’t supposed to engage.

At least, that’s what he told himself when he first saw Haechan’s article pop up in his notifications. He had just finished a three-hour mock trial preparation session and was about to take a break when his phone vibrated. The headline caught his eye immediately.

“The Price of Education: How Tuition Hikes Bury Students in Debt Before They Even Graduate”
By Haechan Lee, Philippine Collegian

He hesitated for only a second before clicking.

Mark knew Haechan’s writing style by now—blunt, sharp, and filled with a kind of raw frustration that was impossible to ignore. Unlike legal articles, which dissected policies with technical jargon, Haechan wrote in a way that hit people where it hurt. The article didn’t just lay out numbers—it told real student stories. One girl is working two part-time jobs just to pay for a semester. A student was forced to take a leave of absence because his parents couldn’t afford the sudden increase in tuition. Professors turning a blind eye because "wala namang magbabago."

Mark sighed, rubbing his temple.

Haechan had a point. But as always, he oversimplified the issue.

Mark had spent the past three years drowning in legal documents about education policies. He knew tuition hikes weren’t as black-and-white as Haechan made them seem. Schools—especially private universities—justified them with rising operational costs, faculty salaries, and research funding. Financial aid existed, but the system wasn’t perfect.

Still, as he read through the article, Mark found himself typing out a response in the comments before he could stop himself.

Mark Lee: “Interesting perspective. But I think you're missing some key legal considerations."

The moment he hit send, his phone vibrated again.

Jaemin: Did you just reply to his article?

Mark scowled. Of course Jaemin saw it already.

A second later, another message popped up.

Jaehyun: Bro, just say you like arguing with him and move on.

Mark groaned. These idiots.

Jaemin wasn’t done, though.

Jaemin: Ateneo Law’s rising star engaging in a comment war with UP Journalism’s resident attack dog? Love it. Pls continue.

Mark didn’t dignify them with a response. Instead, he shut off his phone and grabbed his laptop. If Haechan wanted to make this a battle of narratives, then Mark was more than happy to play.

**

Mark spent the next two hours drafting his article for Law & Letters .

Unlike Haechan, whose style was full of emotion and direct calls to action, Mark’s piece was methodical. Structured. Logical.

"Understanding Tuition Regulation: The Legal Framework Behind Education Costs"
By Mark Lee, Law & Letters

He outlined the laws governing tuition increases, explained the appeals process, and even included case studies of universities successfully implementing tuition caps. He didn’t dismiss Haechan’s points—he acknowledged them—but he also made it clear that the problem was more complex than "administrators just want to profit off students."

By the time he was done, he leaned back in his chair, rereading the last paragraph.

"Change doesn’t happen through outrage alone. If students want to challenge tuition hikes, they need to understand the legal mechanisms behind them. Protests and headlines can pressure institutions, but policy reform is what creates lasting change."

Mark exhaled.

Yeah. This would piss Haechan off.

Perfect.

He sent it for publication.

**

"Tangina niya talaga."

Haechan slammed his laptop shut so hard that Renjun flinched.

"Putangina, ano na naman?" Renjun asked, stirring his iced coffee lazily.

"Mark Lee wrote a response."

Jeno, who had been scrolling through his phone, whistled lowly. "That was fast."

Haechan shoved his laptop toward them. "Basahin mo."

Renjun skimmed through the article, his lips curling in amusement. " Wow. He really went all out, huh? ‘Understanding Tuition Regulation’—putangina, parang lecture."

Jeno chuckled. "Kailangan ko ng kape bago tapusin ‘to."

Haechan, still fuming, grabbed his phone and opened Twitter. The students were already eating it up.

Some were debating in the replies, some were quoting both articles like it was a boxing match, and others were just here for the drama .

@iskolarngbayan: Omg sino ‘tong dalawang ‘to at bakit parang nagbabangayan sila through published articles???

@UPvsADMUthrowdown: Philippine Collegian vs Law & Letters real. Also, magkakadebate ulit ba sila?? Gusto ko ng sequel.

Haechan groaned, running a hand through his hair.

Renjun, meanwhile, was just watching him with an annoying smirk. "So… ano na, babe? Maghihintay ka na lang? Or magpapasabog ka rin?"

Haechan scoffed. "Anong maghihintay? Tangina, syempre may sagot ako."

Jeno grinned. "Gusto mo na ba talagang i-prove na academic foreplay ‘to?"

Haechan threw a pillow at him.

**

Two days later, Mark was at a coffee shop near Ateneo when Jaemin strolled in, holding his phone up.

"Congrats, Mark," Jaemin said, sliding into the seat across from him. " You officially have a nemesis in print media."

Mark frowned. "What—"

Jaemin turned his phone toward him.

"When Laws Fail the People: Why Policy Isn’t Enough to Solve the Education Crisis"
By Haechan Lee, Philippine Collegian

Mark stared at the headline. Then at the first paragraph.

He clicked his tongue. "Of course he had to answer back."

Jaemin grinned. "Of course. You practically invited him."

Mark sighed, scrolling through the article. Haechan had directly referenced his points, arguing that while legal frameworks existed, the reality was that most students didn’t have the time or resources to use them. He highlighted cases of failed petitions, inaccessible legal aid, and how bureaucracy often buried student appeals before they even reached administration.

Mark smirked. Good.

He liked a challenge.

"So," Jaemin mused, stirring his coffee. "What’s next? Another article? Or maybe a proper face-to-face discussion?"

Mark took a sip of his coffee, his expression unreadable. "I think I’ll pay him a visit."

Jaemin raised an eyebrow. "You’re going to UP?"

Mark leaned back in his chair, smirking. "Well, it’s a public space, isn’t it?"

Jaemin grinned. "Now this I gotta see."

**

It was a perfectly normal afternoon at the UP Sunken Garden.

Students lounged on picnic blankets, org mates sat in circles discussing their latest projects, and the occasional stray dog weaved between groups, looking for scraps of food. It was the kind of scene that usually made Haechan feel at ease.

But today, something was ruining his peace.

And that something was currently walking toward him in a perfectly pressed button-down and a smug expression.

Haechan almost choked on his iced coffee. "Tangina."

Jeno, who had been sitting beside him, looked up and followed his gaze. His reaction was instant amusement. "Ohhh shit. He's here."

Renjun, ever observant, raised an eyebrow. "Sino—" Then he spotted the approaching figure. "Oh my God. Babe, nag-effort siyang maglakad papunta dito?"

Mark fucking Lee was walking across campus grounds like he belonged there. He was clearly out of place—his Ateneo law student aura clashing against UP’s more laid-back energy—but that didn’t stop him from striding straight toward Haechan with purpose .

Haechan barely had time to react before Mark stopped in front of their group, hands in his pockets, looking way too pleased with himself.

"Lee."

Haechan scowled. "Anong ginagawa mo dito? Nawala ka ba? Dapat iniwan na kita sa Katipunan."

Mark smirked. "Nah, I’m exactly where I need to be." He tilted his head. "Nice article, by the way. You really have a thing for dramatics, huh?"

Haechan scoffed. "At least I don’t sound like I’m writing a damn law textbook."

"That’s because I actually cite my sources."

Jeno let out a low whistle. "Okay, this is about to get good."

Renjun, already enjoying the show, took a long sip of his drink. "Sige lang, huwag kayong magpigil."

Haechan rolled his eyes. "So ano? Napalakad ka all the way to UP just to mansplain tuition policies to me in person?"

Mark chuckled, shaking his head. "Relax. I’m not here to start a fight."

"Wow, miracle ."

"I just thought," Mark continued, ignoring him, "that if we’re going to keep publishing arguments about each other, we might as well do it properly."

Haechan narrowed his eyes. "A real debate." Mark shrugged casually. "Face to face. You. Me. No hiding behind published articles."

For a second, Haechan just blinked.

Renjun nearly dropped his drink. "Wait. Wait. Did he just challenge you?"

Jeno let out a low laugh. "Putangina, Haech. If you say no, you’re a coward."

Haechan bristled. "Hoy gago, bakit naman ako aayaw? Siya nga ‘tong pumunta dito para pilitin ako, eh."

Mark smirked. "So that’s a yes?"

Haechan crossed his arms, leaning back. "Anong makukuha ko dito?"

“Bragging rights." Mark tilted his head. "Unless you think you’ll lose?"

Haechan scoffed. "Tangina, sige. Pero ikaw ang bumili ng kape pagkatapos ko manalo."

Mark’s smirk widened. "Done."

Jeno clapped his hands together. "Oh shit, this is happening."

Renjun, shaking his head in amusement, muttered, "May Diyos talaga sa langit."

By the time they got to the cafeteria, word had already spread.

It started with Jeno loudly announcing, "Mga Iskolar ng Bayan, makinig! May libreng live debate ngayong hapon!" which immediately got the attention of passing students.

Then Renjun, ever the instigator, added, "Ateneo Law vs. UP Journ. This is the crossover event of the year!"

Within minutes, they had gathered an actual audience.

"Tangina niyo," Haechan muttered, but he didn’t exactly stop them either.

Mark, to his credit, didn’t look the least bit fazed. If anything, he looked amused as he took a seat across from Haechan at one of the tables.

"Rules?" Mark asked, rolling up his sleeves.

Haechan tapped his fingers against the table. "Simple lang. No time limits. No moderators. Just arguments."

Mark nodded. "Fine by me. Since you’re so eager, you can start."

Haechan leaned forward, smirking. "Tsk. Ginoo talaga. Sige, game."

He took a breath. "Ganito lang kasimple. Tuition hikes hurt students—lalo na ‘yung mga hindi galing sa mayayamang pamilya. Hindi lang ‘to numbers sa papel. We’re talking about real lives getting disrupted dahil sa policies na hindi naman talaga nagpapahalaga sa estudyante. Ang edukasyon dapat para sa lahat, hindi lang sa may pambayad."

The crowd hummed in agreement. Someone in the back even muttered, "True yan, bro!"

Mark, unfazed, leaned back in his chair. "You’re arguing that tuition hikes are unfair, but universities aren’t just money-hungry corporations. They need funding to function. Professors need salaries. Facilities need maintenance. You think quality education is free?"

Haechan’s jaw clenched. "So dapat kaming mga estudyante ang magdusa sa gastos? Hindi ba dapat may alternative solutions? Transparency, better fund allocation—kahit anong paraan para hindi lang kami ang pinapahirapan?"

Mark raised an eyebrow. "Then advocate for those solutions, not just outrage. Policies don’t change just because people complain on Twitter."

"Putangina, sino’ng nagsabing puro reklamo lang ang ginagawa namin?" Haechan shot back. "UP students have always fought for accessible education. The difference is, we don’t just hide behind legal loopholes—"

"We don’t hide behind them either," Mark interrupted smoothly. "We use them to create actual change. That’s the difference between idealism and strategy."

The audience let out a collective " ooohhh."

Haechan’s eye twitched. "Tangina mo talaga."

Mark smirked. "You’re welcome."

The debate raged on. Arguments flew back and forth, neither willing to back down. More students gathered, drawn in by the intensity, the sheer energy of two people who clearly lived for this.

And somehow, in the middle of it all, Haechan realized something.

Mark wasn’t just debating to prove him wrong.

He was enjoying this.

Enjoying him .

And maybe—just maybe—Haechan was too.

**

If Haechan was being honest, he hadn’t expected the debate to go on for this long.

What started as a casual intellectual fight over tuition policies had turned into a full-blown academic showdown.

The cafeteria had transformed into an impromptu debate hall, with students crowding around their table, forming a semi-circle of eager spectators. Some were recording, others were whispering their own side comments, and a few—Renjun and Jeno included—were actively enjoying the entertainment .

Haechan’s blood was boiling, but in the best way.

He loved this. The energy, the challenge, the sheer adrenaline of throwing arguments at someone who could actually keep up.

And Mark?

That bastard was enjoying it, too.

"Alright, Lee," Haechan said, voice laced with challenge. "You wanna talk about real solutions? Sige. You say students should push for policy reforms instead of protesting tuition hikes, but have you actually seen how that works in real life? Have you seen petitions get ignored, proposals get buried in red tape, and students forced to drop out while the system drags its feet?"

Mark didn’t miss a beat. "And you think the answer is always outrage? That complaining on social media and staging rallies without an actual legal foundation is enough to create change?"

Haechan let out a sharp laugh. "Tangina, sino’ng nagsabing puro sigaw lang ang ginagawa namin? Do you think the Philippine Collegian just writes angry think pieces? We do research, we present evidence, and we push for action. But let’s be real—no one listens until they’re forced to."

Mark’s eyes flickered with something—recognition, maybe.

But he didn’t let it show. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table. "So what exactly are you suggesting? That the legal system doesn’t work?"

"I’m saying it doesn’t work for everyone."

The words came out sharper than intended, but Haechan didn’t care.

"The law favors those who can afford to use it properly." Haechan met Mark’s gaze head-on. "It’s like tuition fees—the rules may seem fair on paper, but in reality, they favor the people who have the means to play the game."

There was a beat of silence.

For the first time since the debate started, Mark hesitated.

Just for a second.

But Haechan caught it.

Mark’s fingers tapped once against the table, a tell Haechan had started picking up on—he did it when he was thinking of how to reframe his argument. When he was trying to not react emotionally.

Interesting.

"The law may not be perfect," Mark said, voice measured, "but dismantling trust in it completely will only lead to chaos. If we want the system to work for everyone, then we need to make sure the people in power are held accountable. And that doesn’t happen when the conversation is reduced to ‘us versus them.’"

"Right," Haechan drawled, leaning back, "because trusting the system has worked out so well for marginalized communities, hasn’t it?"

Mark exhaled through his nose. "Cynicism doesn’t fix anything, Lee."

"And blind faith does?"

The audience was practically vibrating at this point.

Renjun, who had been taking a sip of his drink, muttered, "Babe, you’re going for blood at this point."

Jeno just grinned. "This is better than any law school lecture I’ve ever attended."

"You don’t even go to law school," Renjun deadpanned.

"Exactly."

Meanwhile, Mark was studying Haechan again, his head tilted slightly.

Haechan’s pulse was still racing, but now that the conversation had slowed, something shifted.

Mark wasn’t arguing for the sake of proving him wrong anymore. He wasn’t even trying to win.

He was really listening.

And for some reason, that made Haechan even more irritated.

Because Mark shouldn’t be listening. He should be fighting back. He should be frustrated.

Instead, he was looking at Haechan like—

Like what?

Haechan didn’t even know.

Before either of them could say anything else, someone clapped.

"Okay, okay, tama na, bago pa mag-away ‘tong dalawa sa gitna ng cafeteria," one of the students joked, breaking the tension.

There was a ripple of laughter as the crowd finally relaxed, the energy shifting from intense debate to light hearted banter.

But Haechan wasn’t laughing.

He was too busy processing the fact that, for the first time, Mark hadn’t dismissed his arguments completely.

**

Mark should have walked away.

The moment the impromptu debate ended, he should have turned around, left UP, and gone back to Ateneo like nothing happened.

Instead, he was still sitting at the table, watching as Haechan talked animatedly to Jeno and Renjun, his hands moving as he ranted about something that probably had nothing to do with the debate anymore.

Mark didn’t know why he was still here.

"Dude," Jaemin’s voice cut through his thoughts.

Mark blinked. "What?"

Jaemin smirked. "You’re staring."

Mark scoffed, finally looking away. "I am not."

Jaemin hummed, unconvinced. "Right. So, what’s the verdict? Are you gonna write another article or are you just gonna keep showing up here to argue with him in person?"

"I don’t—"

"Care?" Jaemin finished for him, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah, sure. Totally believable."

Mark exhaled. "He’s reckless. Too emotional when he argues. He needs to learn how to structure his points better."

"Uh-huh."

"And he jumps to conclusions without considering the legal perspective—"

"You are so obvious, it’s painful to watch."

Mark scowled. "I’m just saying—"

"You’re just listing all the things you clearly like about him," Jaemin interrupted, grinning. "Face it, Mark. You don’t just enjoy arguing with him. You enjoy him."

Mark didn’t dignify that with a response.

Mostly because he didn’t know if Jaemin was wrong.

**

Later that night, Haechan found himself alone in his dorm room, staring at his laptop screen.

His cursor hovered over a blank document, the title field still empty. He was supposed to be writing a follow-up article. Instead, all he could think about was Mark fucking Lee.

Haechan groaned, flopping onto his bed and covering his face with a pillow. "Putangina, bakit siya nandito sa utak ko?!"

His phone buzzed. He grabbed it blindly, assuming it was Renjun or Jeno sending another meme about the debate. But it wasn’t. It was a message notification. And it was from Mark .

Haechan’s breath hitched.

Mark: Well argued. But you still owe me coffee.

Haechan sat up so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. He stared at the message. Then at the words Well argued . Mark had never—not once—complimented him before. Not directly. Not like this. Haechan exhaled sharply, typing out a reply before he could overthink.

Haechan: Tangina mo. Fine. Starbucks, 2 PM. Don’t be late.

Mark’s response was immediate.

Mark:   Wouldn’t dream of it.

Haechan groaned again. Because this wasn’t just another argument anymore. And he had no idea what to do about it.

**

Haechan had no idea why he was here.

Actually, scratch that.

He knew exactly why—because Mark Lee had challenged him , and Haechan never backed down from a challenge.

That didn’t mean he had to be happy about it.

"Putangina," he muttered under his breath as he walked into Starbucks, spotting Mark immediately. "Bakit ba ako pumayag dito?"

Mark was already sitting at a table near the window, scrolling through his phone like he hadn’t just dragged Haechan into this situation. He looked as put-together as ever—crisp white button-down, sleeves rolled up just enough to be annoyingly attractive, and a composed expression that made it seem like he had planned this entire thing out.

Haechan scowled. So what if he looked good? That wasn’t the point.

"Relax, Lee," Mark drawled without looking up. "You look like you’re about to fight someone."

"Gago, kasi parang niloko mo ako sa usapan natin," Haechan huffed, dropping into the seat across from him. "Akala ko ‘tong ‘kape’ ay metaphor lang."

Mark smirked. "You assume too much. I meant it literally."

"Tangina, dapat sinabi mo agad—"

"I did."

Haechan opened his mouth, then shut it when he realized Mark had a point.

Fucking hell.

"Anyway," Mark continued smoothly, "since you lost, I assume you’ll be paying for my drink?"

Haechan scoffed. "Ano? Paanong talo? Walang nanalo sa debate natin!"

Mark raised an eyebrow. "Says the guy who’s currently buying me coffee."

"Gago ka talaga," Haechan grumbled, but he was already standing up and heading for the counter.

Mark leaned back in his chair, watching him with amusement. "Dark roast, no sugar. Thanks."

Haechan flipped him off over his shoulder.

When Haechan returned, he not-so-gently placed Mark’s coffee in front of him before flopping back into his seat.

"So," Mark said, taking a sip, "why’d you agree to this?"

"Sino’ng may sabi na gusto ko ‘to?" Haechan shot back. "Nagbigay lang ako kasi may utang na loob akong sinasabi mo. Kung hindi, wala akong pake kung matuyo lalamunan mo sa sobrang kapal ng mukha mo."

Mark chuckled. "You really can’t go five minutes without insulting me, huh?"

"Sanay ka naman, ‘di ba?" Haechan smirked. "Besides, it’s what you deserve."

Mark rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. For a moment, they just sat there. 

The coffee shop buzzed with the usual late-afternoon crowd—students typing away on laptops, professors having quiet discussions, the sound of steaming milk and the occasional clatter of cups.

It was normal. But Haechan hated how not normal it felt sitting across from Mark like this. They weren’t debating. They weren’t trying to outsmart each other. They were just… talking. And that was dangerous .

"So, what’s your next article about?" Mark asked, breaking the silence.

Haechan frowned. "Anong pakialam mo?"

"None," Mark admitted, sipping his coffee. "I’m just curious."

"Curious o gusto mo lang makahanap ng isasagot?"

"Maybe both," Mark said easily. "You keep me on my toes."

Haechan nearly choked on his drink. "Putangina, ano ‘yun? Compliment?"

Mark smirked. "Take it however you want."

Tangina .

Haechan looked away, trying to ignore the way his heart skipped a beat .

"But seriously," Mark continued, tapping his fingers against his cup, "your arguments are solid, but they’re fueled by emotion. Have you ever considered taking up law?"

Haechan scoffed. "Why the hell would I do that?"

"Because you’re good at making a case," Mark replied. "You’re already doing half the work—gathering evidence, crafting arguments, exposing loopholes. You’d make a good lawyer."

Haechan stared at him for a moment before shaking his head. "No way. Hindi ako bagay sa ganyang mundo. I don’t want to argue about justice in a courtroom—I want people to actually feel its impact. That’s why I write."

Mark tilted his head. "And you think lawyers don’t do that?"

"Not the way I want to."

Mark studied him for a second, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

Then he exhaled, leaning back. "Fair enough."

Haechan narrowed his eyes. "Wait. That’s it? No five-minute counterargument?"

Mark smirked. "Not everything has to be a fight, Lee."

Haechan rolled his eyes. "I’m starting to think you actually like arguing with me."

"Hmm." Mark took another sip of his coffee, watching him over the rim of his cup. "Maybe I do."

Haechan swore his brain short-circuited for a second. No. Nope. We are NOT going there.

"TANGINA, SINO NAGSABI NA MAY GANUN?" Haechan blurted out, far too loudly for a Starbucks.

A couple of students turned to look at them.

Mark, completely unfazed, just chuckled. "Relax, Lee. You’re too easy to mess with."

Haechan scowled. "Putangina, ‘wag mo ‘kong gawing joke."

"Who said I was joking?"

Haechan froze. For a split second, the air between them changed. It was barely noticeable—a shift, a pause, a flicker of something unspoken.

Then, just as quickly, Mark leaned back, breaking the moment. "Anyway," he said smoothly, "this was fun. But I have to head back to Ateneo soon."

Haechan blinked, still trying to process whatever the hell just happened. "Ano? Tapos na ‘to?"

"Unless you have something else to say?"

Haechan narrowed his eyes. "Yeah. Next time, ikaw ang taya sa kape."

Mark chuckled, standing up and adjusting his sleeves. "Fine. But that means there will be a next time."

Haechan opened his mouth, ready to argue—except… he didn’t actually have an argument. Because shit. Mark was right. And that might have been the most annoying realization of all.

**

Haechan spent the rest of the evening spiraling.

The moment he got back to his dorm, he collapsed onto his bed, groaning into his pillow.

"Putangina, bakit ako pumayag doon?"

Across the room, Renjun barely looked up from his laptop. "Babe, hindi ko alam kung nagdedebate kayo o may dinidate ka nang bago."

"ANO?" Haechan sat up so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. "Hindi ako—! Tangina, Renjun, shut up!"

Jeno, who had been sitting on the floor, burst out laughing. "Haech, chill. He’s just saying what we’re all thinking."

"Wala akong iniisip!"

Renjun raised an eyebrow. "Eh bakit parang affected ka masyado?"

Haechan scowled, grabbing a pillow and throwing it at him. "Putangina niyo pareho."

Renjun and Jeno just grinned. Haechan groaned, flopping back down. Because the worst part? He couldn’t stop thinking about what Mark had said.

“Maybe I do.”

And that was a problem. A very big problem.

**

If Haechan thought he could just forget about what happened at Starbucks, he was dead wrong. Because the next morning, everyone at UP was talking about him and Mark Lee.

“Putangina, Haechan Lee, explain.”

Haechan barely had time to process Renjun’s words before his phone was shoved in his face, the screen flashing a Twitter thread:

@UPvsADMUthrowdown: GUYS. MARK LEE AND HAECHAN LEE HAD COFFEE TOGETHER. WHAT DOES THIS MEAN??? 👀🔥 (1/?)

@iskolarngbayan: Wait, I thought gusto nilang patayin isa’t isa???

@UP_gossip: Akala ko enemies sila pero bakit parang may something??????

@AteneoLawDaily: Not Mark Lee leaving a debate at UP and immediately taking the guy he argued with to Starbucks. This is a fanfic waiting to happen.

Haechan almost threw Renjun’s phone out the window.

"PUTANGINA, BAKIT ALAM NG TAO ‘TO?!"

Renjun cackled. "Babe, what the hell did you two do?"

"Nag-kape lang kami!" Haechan said, voice rising. "Bakit parang scripted fanservice ‘to sa Twitter?!"

Jeno, who had been scrolling through the replies, snorted. "Chan, ‘nag-kape lang’ daw pero parang ang daming nakakita ng chemistry niyo."

"What chemistry?!"

Renjun gave him a look. "Babe. Be honest. Do you really think people wouldn’t notice the way you and Mark Lee argue like it’s foreplay?"

Haechan choked. "ANO?!"

Jeno burst out laughing. "Gagi, Renjun, paano mo nasabi ‘yan nang hindi man lang nag-blink?"

"Kasi totoo?" Renjun grinned. "Come on, babe. You two literally wrote academic love letters to each other and now you’re sharing coffee? Dapat ba kaming mag-abang ng wedding invitations?"

"PUTANGINA, SHUT UP!"

Haechan groaned, grabbing a pillow and smashing it against his face. This was hell. Actual hell. And the worst part? Mark hadn’t even messaged him since their coffee shop meetup.

**

Mark was having a problem. And that problem was currently staring at him from Jaemin’s phone screen.

"Mark," Jaemin said, barely holding back his laughter. "Explain."

Jaehyun, who had been reviewing his notes beside them, leaned over. "What now?"

Jaemin turned his phone toward him, revealing the same Twitter thread that was currently ruining Mark’s life.

Jaehyun blinked. "Oh. Well, that’s awkward."

Mark scowled. "It’s not awkward."

"Mark, everyone thinks you’re flirting with him." Jaemin grinned. "Even I think you’re flirting with him."

"I am not—"

"Sure."

Mark exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is ridiculous. It was just coffee."

Jaehyun hummed. "Funny how you didn’t deny the flirting part."

Mark shot him a glare. "It’s not—"

"Not what?" Jaemin wiggled his eyebrows. "Not real? Not a thing? Not the reason you’ve been checking your phone every five minutes since yesterday?"

Mark hated how predictable he was. Because yes, he had been checking his phone. And no, he didn’t know why. It wasn’t like he was waiting for Haechan to message him first. Except… maybe he kind of was. Shit.

Jaemin was still watching him with a knowing look. "You like him."

Mark scoffed. "I tolerate him."

"That’s what they all say before they fall, bro."

"Jaemin, shut up."

Jaemin smirked. "Make me. Or better yet, go argue with Haechan about it—since that’s your favorite pastime."

Mark groaned, leaning back in his chair. This was a problem. A very big problem. Because if even his friends were noticing, then it meant Mark had lost control of whatever this was. 

And Mark Lee did not lose control.

**

The next few days were weird. For the first time since their rivalry started, Haechan and Mark weren’t publicly fighting. There were no Twitter debates. No scathing articles responding to each other’s points. No snarky comments in student forums. Nothing. And that was driving Haechan insane.

"Gago, am I crazy or is he ignoring me?" Haechan asked, pacing around their dorm room.

Renjun barely looked up from his laptop. "Babe, maybe he’s just busy?"

"Busy my ass. He literally replied to my article in under ten minutes last time."

"Maybe he’s taking a break from fighting with you?"

Haechan scowled. "Tangina, bakit ngayon pa?"

Jeno smirked. "Awww. Miss mo na siya?"

"HUH?!" Haechan whirled around. "Anong miss?! Hindi ko siya nami—!" He stopped mid-sentence because Renjun and Jeno were both giving him the most judgmental looks he had ever seen.

Haechan groaned. "I hate both of you."

"We know."

**

By Friday, Mark gave up pretending he didn’t care. Which was how he ended up accidentally walking past the Philippine Collegian office. Totally by accident. Not because he had been thinking about Haechan. Or because he wanted to see him. Definitely not because he missed their debates.

Just… coincidence.

Except, of course, Haechan chose that exact moment to step out of the office. The second their eyes met, they both froze. For a solid three seconds, neither of them said anything.

Then Haechan narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing here?"

Mark smirked, recovering quickly. "I could ask you the same thing."

"Gago, this is literally my office."

"Fair point."

Haechan crossed his arms. "So?"

Mark sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don’t know."

Haechan blinked. "Wait, what?"

Mark exhaled. "I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t know why I keep thinking about our arguments. I don’t know why I—" He stopped himself, shaking his head. "Never mind."

Haechan’s stomach did something weird. He should make fun of Mark. Tease him, mock him, anything. But instead, what came out was—

"Tangina, same."

Mark looked at him. Really looked at him. And for the first time, they weren’t arguing. They weren’t debating, or trying to prove each other wrong. They were just two people standing outside a campus office, realizing that maybe—just maybe—this was something else entirely.

**

If Mark thought avoiding Haechan would make things easier, he was wrong. Because now, instead of being annoyed by Haechan’s articles, Mark was annoyed by the lack of them.

His Twitter feed wasn’t filled with their usual back-and-forth. His notifications weren’t blowing up with debates. And for the first time in weeks, he wasn’t constantly checking Philippine Collegian to see what Haechan had written next.

It was like trying to quit caffeine. Impossible. Unfortunately, Mark had bigger problems to deal with.

"You’re distracted," Jaehyun noted, flipping through their case study notes. "That’s not like you."

Mark exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. "I’m fine."

"You’re not."

"Jaehyun—"

"You know how I know?" Jaehyun leaned back in his chair, smirking. "Because for the first time ever, you’re actually struggling to organize your arguments. Which means something is messing with your head."

Mark scowled, flipping a page in his binder. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"Right." Jaehyun chuckled. "So this has nothing to do with the fact that you haven’t stopped checking your phone since we got here?"

Mark rolled his eyes. "Can we focus? The mock trial is in three days."

"Exactly," Jaehyun said, voice turning serious. "Which means now is the worst time to let yourself get distracted."

Mark clenched his jaw. He knew Jaehyun was right. He knew he should be fully focused on the upcoming mock trial—the one his father was already expecting him to dominate. But the weight of expectations was getting heavier.

His father had barely acknowledged his Law & Letters debate with Haechan. The one time they talked about it, all he said was:

"Idealism is good, Mark. But if you want to make a real difference, you do it in court—not in student publications."

As if everything Mark had argued for didn’t matter. As if debating Haechan was just… a phase. Mark hated that. And he hated even more that he hadn’t replied to Haechan’s last message.

**

"Babe, you need to stop staring at your phone like a jowa mo ‘yang notifications tab," Renjun said, sprawled across Haechan’s bed.

"Putangina mo," Haechan grumbled, shoving his phone under his pillow. "I’m not waiting for anything."

Renjun raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. And if I check your screen time, hindi ba lahat ‘yan puro messages and Law & Letters?"

"Shut up."

Jeno snorted. "Chan, just admit it. You miss fighting with him."

Haechan scowled. "Bakit parang kayo ‘yung excited? Tangina, wala lang akong pinag-aawayan lately, okay?"

"So hanap tayo ng bagong target?" Jeno offered. "UP admin? Marcos trolls? Ateneo basketball team?"

"Putangina, Jeno, bakit basketball team?"

"Wala lang. Ang yabang kasi ng mga Atenista minsan."

Haechan laughed at that, but his chest still felt heavy. Because as much as he wanted to pretend he wasn’t thinking about Mark, it wasn’t working. And he was about to get a very rude reminder of that fact.

It happened in the most inconvenient place possible—right in the middle of UP Diliman’s main library.

Haechan had just settled into a quiet corner when someone dropped a book onto his table. He looked up, already annoyed—then immediately frowned.

"Anong ginagawa mo dito?"

Mark crossed his arms. "Research."

Haechan scoffed. "Sa dami ng library sa Ateneo, bakit dito?"

"It’s a public space, Lee."

Haechan narrowed his eyes. "Bullshit. You’re following me."

Mark smirked. "That’s a very self-centered assumption."

"Tangina, just say you miss me and go."

Mark blinked. For the first time, he looked caught off guard. Then he leaned forward, lowering his voice. "You think I miss you?"

Haechan faltered. Oh shit. Because suddenly, they weren’t arguing anymore.

The library around them faded into the background. The tension wasn’t about politics or articles—it was something else entirely.

Something Haechan wasn’t ready to deal with. So he did the only thing he knew how to do. He pushed back.

"You tell me," Haechan said, voice casual but his heartbeat anything but. "You’re the one who showed up at my school, sat at my table, and started a conversation."

Mark’s jaw tightened. "You want an answer?"

"Obviously."

Mark exhaled, like he was weighing his words carefully. Then he said—

"Maybe I do."

Haechan forgot how to breathe. Mark didn’t break eye contact. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t back down. Haechan hated him for that. Because what the hell were they even talking about anymore?

"Mark—"

"Forget it," Mark said suddenly, shaking his head. "This was a bad idea."

Before Haechan could react, Mark grabbed his book and walked away. Just walked away.

Leaving Haechan alone at the table, completely and utterly lost.

**

Mark didn’t stop walking until he was outside. His heart was pounding. His mind was a mess.

"Maybe I do."

What the fuck was he thinking? He shouldn’t have said that. Shouldn’t have gone to UP. Shouldn’t have sought Haechan out when he knew things were already complicated. But he couldn’t help it.

Jaemin’s voice echoed in his head. "You don’t just enjoy arguing with him. You enjoy him."

Mark groaned, raking a hand through his hair. He needed to get his shit together. Because if he didn’t, this was going to turn into something he couldn’t control. And Mark hated losing control.

**

Mark Lee was drowning. Not literally, of course. But it felt like he was. There were too many case readings. Too many mock trial preparations. Too many expectations weighing on his shoulders, pressing down like a force he couldn’t shake off.

And he was tired. Not the kind of tiredness that could be fixed by a few hours of sleep, but the kind that settled in his bones, refusing to leave.

"You need to focus, Mark," his father’s voice echoed in his head. "This is what matters. Not school debates. Not student politics. Real change happens in the courtroom."

Mark clenched his jaw, flipping through his notes. He knew that. His father had been drilling it into him for years. But why did it feel like something was missing?

**

"Lee, your counter argument is weak."

Mark barely stopped himself from sighing. Across from him, their mock trial coach—an actual practicing lawyer—was watching him with a sharp gaze.

"You focused too much on moral reasoning. The court doesn’t care about emotions, it cares about evidence. You need to be sharper, faster."

Mark nodded, biting his tongue. "Understood."

"Again. From the top."

And just like that, they restarted the entire mock trial argument.

For the next hour, Mark sparred with Jaehyun and their teammates, taking hit after hit—legal loopholes he hadn’t thought of, case laws he should have memorized, mistakes that weren’t even real mistakes but weren’t perfect either. By the end of it, his head was pounding.

"You’re overthinking again," Jaehyun muttered, packing up his notes beside him. "That’s not like you."

Mark exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. "I’m fine."

"Are you?"

Mark didn’t answer. Because no, he wasn’t fine. He was exhausted. He was frustrated. He was suffocating under the pressure of always being expected to be the best. And the worst part? His father didn’t even see how hard he was trying.

**

"Your performance in the mock trial will determine the firm’s decision about your internship," his father said over dinner, barely glancing up from his phone. "You should already be thinking ahead, Mark. Law school is just the foundation—your real career starts the moment you enter that courtroom."

Mark gripped his fork. "I know."

"Then stop wasting your time with student debates."

Mark stiffened. His father didn’t even say it like an insult—just a fact. Like everything Mark had been doing outside of law school meant nothing.

"I wouldn’t call it a waste," Mark said, voice carefully neutral.

His father finally looked up. "Mark."

Mark held his gaze. "I’m just saying—"

"What? That arguing with college journalists is going to change the world?" His father scoffed. "Come on. You’re better than that."

Mark clenched his jaw. Better than what, exactly? Better than caring about something outside of legal technicalities? Better than engaging in discussions that actually challenged him? Better than Haechan? That thought made him pause.

His father sighed, returning to his phone. "You want to make a difference? Win your cases. Change the system from the inside. Everything else is just noise."

Just noise. Mark stared at his plate, appetite completely gone. He knew his father wouldn’t understand. Because to his father, winning was all that mattered. But for the first time, Mark wasn’t sure if that was enough anymore.

**

It hit him two nights before the mock trial.

Mark had been staring at the same legal document for over an hour, his brain refusing to function. His desk was a mess—papers scattered everywhere, empty coffee cups stacked in the corner, his laptop screen filled with half-written arguments that didn’t make sense anymore.

And then, out of nowhere, his phone buzzed. He grabbed it instinctively, expecting another email— But it wasn’t. It was a message notification.

Haechan: You dead, Golden Boy? Or just too scared to argue with me again?

Mark froze.

For a second, everything else disappeared. The stress. The expectations. The exhaustion. All that was left was Haechan’s message, staring at him like a challenge. And without thinking, Mark took off.

**

Mark wasn’t thinking.

Or maybe he was—just not rationally.

Because if he were thinking rationally, he wouldn’t be here. He wouldn’t have left Ateneo in the middle of the night, wouldn’t have taken a Grab to UP, wouldn’t have marched across campus with nothing but frustration and exhaustion fueling his every step.

But he was here, and his knuckles were tight around his phone as he reread the message that had pushed him over the edge.

Haechan: You dead, Golden Boy? Or just too scared to argue with me again?

Mark had spent days ignoring him. Had convinced himself he was too busy, too focused, too fucking exhausted to engage in another pointless fight.

But the truth was, he had needed an excuse to break. And Haechan had handed him one.

**

Haechan was not expecting to be dragged into a confrontation at eleven-fucking-thirty PM.

One minute, he was chilling outside the dorms, sharing a smoke with Jeno and Renjun. The next, someone grabbed his wrist and pulled him aside.

"Tangina—!" Haechan swore, jerking away—then froze when he saw who it was.

"Mark?"

Mark’s expression was unreadable, but his eyes—fuck. Something about them made Haechan’s stomach drop.

"What the hell—"

"Shut up."

Haechan’s eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

"You want a fight, Lee?" Mark’s voice was low, rough. "Fine. Let’s fight."

Haechan scoffed. "Putangina, ano bang problema mo?"

"You."

Haechan blinked. "What?"

"You don’t shut up. You don’t stop pushing. You act like you’re the only one who fucking cares about change, like you have the moral high ground just because you write about it—"

"Tangina—!"

"And you don’t even realize how easy you have it," Mark continued, voice tight. "You get to write and protest and throw words around without ever having to deal with the actual legal consequences. Do you even know what it’s like to have the weight of real cases, real fucking people’s futures, in your hands?"

Haechan’s temper snapped. "So ngayon kasalanan ko na? Putangina, ikaw ang dumayo dito para sigawan ako—!"

"Because you don’t get it!" Mark stepped closer, jaw clenched. "You think you’re fighting the system? I have to work inside it. I have to play the game while you just throw punches from the outside and call it a revolution."

Haechan’s chest burned. "At least ako, hindi ako nagpapanggap na neutral. At least alam kong may pinapanigan ako—!"

"You think I don’t have a side?"

Mark was right in front of him now, inches away, voice shaking with anger.

"You think I don’t care?"

And fuck, Haechan should have thrown another insult. Should have pushed him back and walked away. But instead, he just stared. Because Mark looked wrecked. Dark circles under his eyes. Tension coiled in his shoulders. Hands shaking slightly—whether from anger or exhaustion, Haechan couldn’t tell. He had never seen Mark look like this. And suddenly, it didn’t feel like a debate anymore. It felt like something else entirely.

**

Mark exhaled sharply, breaking eye contact first. He ran a hand through his hair, stepping back like he had just realized what he was doing. Haechan still hadn’t moved. For the first time, he didn’t know what to say.

"You have no idea," Mark muttered, voice quieter now. "You have no fucking idea what it’s like to be expected to win every single time. To be told that if you don’t succeed, then you’re nothing. That fighting the wrong way means throwing away everything your family built."

Haechan swallowed. Because shit. This wasn’t just about their fight. This wasn’t even about tuition hikes or legal systems anymore. This was about Mark.

Mark, who was tired. Mark, who was cracking under pressure. Mark, who had been carrying something so much heavier than Haechan had ever realized.

And Haechan—loud, relentless, always ready to push back—had never noticed. That realization felt like a gut punch.

"Mark—"

"Forget it."

Mark turned around. Started walking away. And for the first time, Haechan didn’t want to let him go.

**

Mark was leaving. Haechan should have let him. Should have crossed his arms, scoffed, muttered something about Ateneo boys being cowards, and walked away in the opposite direction. But he didn’t. Instead, he was moving before he could think, grabbing Mark’s wrist and pulling him back.

"Wait."

Mark stiffened. For a second, neither of them spoke.

Then Mark exhaled sharply. "Haechan, let go."

But Haechan didn’t. "Putangina, anong problema mo?" Haechan demanded. " You come all the way here to yell at me, and now you’re just gonna leave? Ano ‘to, dramatic exit? Gago ka ba?"

Mark turned his head slightly, but he didn’t face him completely. "I shouldn’t have come."

Haechan gritted his teeth. "Yeah, no shit. Pero since nandito ka na, might as well finish what you fucking started."

Mark didn’t move. His wrist was still in Haechan’s grip, his body tense, like he was about to bolt but something was keeping him rooted to the spot. And Haechan—who had spent weeks arguing with this infuriating, self-righteous, idealistic Atenean—realized something.

Mark wasn’t just tired. He was breaking. And Haechan hated that. Hated seeing him like this. Hated that he cared enough to notice. But most of all? Hated that he didn’t know how to fix it.

"Mark."

It was the first time Haechan had ever said his name like that. No sarcasm. No bite. No Golden Boy, no debate, no challenge. Just his name. And Mark finally looked at him. His face was blank, but his eyes—fuck, his eyes—were saying everything he wouldn’t. Haechan’s chest tightened.

"Tangina," he muttered, softer now. "You look like shit."

Mark huffed out something that could have been a laugh, but it was empty. "Thanks."

"Hindi ‘yun compliment, gago."

Silence. Then, Mark sighed, pulling his wrist free. He didn’t walk away this time, but he didn’t say anything either.

Haechan shoved his hands into his pockets. "Did you eat?"

Mark frowned. "What?"

"Did. You. Eat."

Mark looked like he wanted to argue. Maybe say something sarcastic. But instead, he just exhaled and muttered, "No."

Haechan clicked his tongue. "Figures."

Before Mark could react, Haechan grabbed his bag and started walking. "Tara."

Mark blinked. "Where—"

"Late-night lugaw. Ikaw ang taya."

"Haechan—"

"Wala akong pake, Golden Boy. Kung gusto mong umalis, umalis ka. Pero kung gusto mong kumain at ‘di ka man lang magpapasalamat sa pagiging concerned ko, putangina mo talaga."

Mark stared at him. Then, to Haechan’s complete and utter shock, he followed.

They ended up in a 24-hour lugawan near UP’s main gate, sitting at a dimly lit outdoor table with two steaming bowls in front of them. Haechan barely noticed the street noise, too focused on the way Mark was actually eating instead of arguing with him. It was weird. But not in a bad way.

"So," Haechan said, breaking the silence. "Gusto mo nang sabihin kung bakit ka talaga nandito?"

Mark exhaled. "I told you—"

"No, you didn’t."

Mark went quiet. Haechan watched him carefully. The tension in his shoulders. The way his fingers curled around the spoon, like he was holding onto something he couldn’t say out loud. 

Then, after what felt like forever, Mark finally spoke. "I just… needed to get out."

Haechan frowned. "From what?"

Mark stared at his bowl. "Everything."

And just like that, Haechan understood. He didn’t push. Didn’t demand more answers. Because he knew what it was like to want to disappear, even for just a little while.

So instead, he just said, "Next time, try texting instead of showing up out of nowhere like some ghost haunting my life."

Mark let out a tired chuckle. "Noted."

Haechan smirked. "Gago ka pa rin, though."

"Likewise."

For the first time that night, it didn’t feel like a fight. Just… them. Whatever the fuck that meant.

By the time they left the lugawan, it was almost 3 AM. They walked side by side, silent but not uncomfortable. Then, as they reached the dorms, Mark slowed down.

Haechan turned to him. "Ano? May problema pa?"

Mark looked at him for a long moment. Then, in a voice that was barely above a whisper, he said— "Thanks."

Haechan blinked. "Sa lugaw? Gago, ikaw nagbayad."

Mark shook his head, something unreadable in his expression. "No. Just… thanks."

And before Haechan could process that, Mark turned and walked away. Leaving Haechan completely and utterly confused. And for the first time, Haechan realized— T his wasn’t just rivalry anymore. This was something else entirely.

**

Haechan had a plan. And that plan was simple: Act. Normal.

Forget about the fact that Mark Lee had shown up at UP in the middle of the night like some tragic law school ghost. Forget about the way his voice had cracked when he admitted he just needed to get away.

Forget about how something shifted when they sat in that lugawan, side by side, not as rivals—but as something else.

Haechan could do that. He could pretend. Or at least, he thought he could— Until Mark fucking Lee walked into the Philippine Collegian office.

The moment Mark stepped inside, every single head in the room turned. Including Haechan’s. His heart immediately launched into his throat.

"Tangina," he muttered under his breath.

Because what the hell was Mark doing here?!

Mark, for his part, looked completely unbothered, standing in the middle of the Collegian office like he hadn’t just broken every law of the universe by voluntarily stepping into enemy territory.

"Lee," Mark greeted, too casually.

Haechan squinted at him. "Bakit ka nandito?"

"Looking for someone."

"Gago, sino namang ibang Atenista ang kilala mo dito?"

"You."

Haechan choked. "ANO?!"

"Relax," Mark said, smirking slightly. "I just came to return this."

Then, to Haechan’s complete and utter horror, Mark reached into his bag— And pulled out Haechan’s jacket. The one he had let Mark borrow that night. The night Haechan was supposed to be forgetting. The room went silent. And then—

"PUTANGINA," Renjun gasped, eyes wide as hell. "HAECHAN, BAKIT NASA KANYA ‘YUNG JACKET MO?!"

Jeno, already grinning, crossed his arms. "Chan. Explain."

Haechan’s entire life flashed before his eyes. "Tangina, hindi ‘yan—!"

"He left it in my Grab," Mark cut in smoothly, handing the jacket over like this wasn’t the biggest scandal of the century. "Figured I’d return it."

Haechan snatched it from his hands. "Hindi mo ba pwedeng itago ‘to? Hindi ba pwedeng ‘wag mo nang ipakita sa harap ng buong Collegian?!"

Mark smirked. "Why? Got something to hide?"

Renjun and Jeno were eating this up.

"Babe," Renjun said, grinning like a devil. "Is there something you want to tell us?"

"WALA!"

Jeno raised an eyebrow. "Sigurado ka? Kasi parang ang daming ebidensya na—"

"TANGINA, TAMA NA!"

Haechan grabbed Mark’s wrist, dragging him out of the office before Renjun could start a PowerPoint presentation on why this was suspicious.

The moment they were outside, Haechan whirled around.

"PUTANGINA MO, MARK!"

Mark chuckled. "What?"

"Bakit mo ‘to dinala sa office?! Tangina, ngayon may fan theories na naman ‘yang mga gago kong kaibigan!"

"You’re overreacting," Mark said, leaning against the wall. "It’s just a jacket."

Haechan glared at him. "Alam mong hindi ‘to ‘just a jacket’ para sa kanila!"

Mark raised an eyebrow. "So what? You don’t want them to know we were together that night?"

Haechan froze. Because fuck. That was not what he meant. But Mark wasn’t wrong either.

His stomach twisted uncomfortably. "It’s not like that."

Mark’s smirk faltered just slightly. "Then what is it like, Haechan?"

Haechan hated him. Hated that Mark had the audacity to look at him like that—like he already knew the answer. Hated that he couldn’t fucking lie. So instead of answering, he just muttered, "Next time, just text me."

Mark tilted his head. "Next time?"

Haechan blinked. Shit.

"Tangina," he muttered, turning away so Mark wouldn’t see the way his face was burning. "Alis ka na nga."

And for once, Mark actually listened. But as he walked away, Haechan swore he was smirking the entire time.

**

Haechan barely made it back into the Collegian office before Renjun and Jeno attacked.

"Babe," Renjun gasped dramatically, hand on his chest. "How could you keep this from us?"

"KEEP WHAT FROM YOU?! WALA NAMANG NANGYAYARI!"

Jeno snorted. "Chan, that’s exactly what people say when something’s happening."

"PUTANGINA, AYOKO NA!"

Haechan threw his jacket over his head, trying to physically escape reality. It didn’t work.

**

Back at Ateneo, Mark was also struggling. Because the moment he walked into the student lounge, Jaemin and Jaehyun were waiting. And they knew.

"So," Jaemin drawled, looking up from his phone. "How was your little field trip to UP?"

Mark sighed. "I just returned his jacket."

Jaehyun smirked. "And somehow, that’s the least interesting part of this story."

Jaemin nodded. "You could’ve given it back privately. But nooo, you had to show up at Philippine Collegian. That’s a power move, Mark."

Mark rolled his eyes. "You guys are reading too much into this."

"Right," Jaehyun said, flipping through his notes. "Just like you were ‘totally not thinking about him’ when you randomly left Ateneo at 11 PM last week?"

Mark stiffened. "That was different."

Jaemin raised an eyebrow. "Was it?"

Mark didn’t answer. Because fuck. He didn’t know anymore.

Later that night, Mark was alone in his dorm, staring at his phone. His fingers hovered over Haechan’s contact. He shouldn’t text him. He shouldn’t be thinking about him. But his mind kept replaying that night. The way Haechan grabbed his wrist. The way he didn’t let him leave. The way he cared. And before he could stop himself, Mark typed out a message.

Mark: Next time, I’ll text you first.

He hit send before he could overthink. And then— Haechan replied immediately.

Haechan: Good. Baka isipin ko gusto mo lang akong makita ulit.

Mark smiled. Because maybe… Maybe that wasn’t the worst idea. For two people who claimed they weren’t thinking about each other, Mark and Haechan were doing a terrible job proving it. Because suddenly, everything felt different.

Their fights? Different.
The way they looked at each other? Different.
The way Haechan felt when Mark was around? Dangerously, annoyingly, confusingly different.

And the worst part?

Neither of them knew what to do about it.

**

Haechan tried to avoid him. He really did. But that was kind of difficult when Mark kept showing up.

"You know," Renjun mused as they sat outside the cafeteria, "for someone who claims to be avoiding Mark, you’re doing a shit job at it."

Haechan scowled. "Tangina mo."

"Babe, I’m just saying—"

"Hindi ko siya iniiwasan!"

Renjun raised an eyebrow. "Right. Which is why you almost dove behind a pillar when you saw him walking this way."

Haechan froze. "What?"

Renjun smirked and tilted his head. "Look behind you, babe."

Haechan did not look. Because he already felt it—that annoying, familiar presence that sent his heartbeat into a completely unnecessary panic. And then—

"Lee."

Fuck.

Haechan turned around, forcing his expression into maximum irritation mode. "Anong ginagawa mo dito?"

Mark, who absolutely knew Haechan had been avoiding him, just smirked. "It’s a public space."

"Putangina—"

"Relax, I’m not here to fight."

Haechan narrowed his eyes. "Oh? Bago ‘yan ah."

Mark just hummed, adjusting the strap of his bag. "Just wanted to let you know—new Law & Letters article drops tomorrow. Thought you’d want a heads-up."

Haechan bristled. "Ano na namang pinagsasabi mo dun?"

Mark smirked. "You’ll see."

Then, just to be a little shit about it, he winked and walked away. Haechan stared after him, scowling way too hard for someone who was totally unaffected. Renjun? Absolutely dying.

"Babe." Renjun grinned. "You are so fucked."

Haechan groaned. Yeah. No shit.

The next day, the article dropped. And Haechan? Was absolutely, 100%, ready to kill Mark Lee.

"PUTANGINA MO, MARK!"

The entire campus turned to watch as Haechan stormed across the Sunken Garden, murder in his eyes, Law & Letters article pulled up on his phone.

And Mark? Waiting for him with a fucking iced Americano like this was a normal Tuesday.

"You read it?" Mark asked, sipping his coffee.

"ANO SA TINGIN MO?!"

"I think you should be thanking me."

"Thanking you?" Haechan scoffed. "GAGO KA BA? ‘Journalism thrives on chaos, but law creates order?’ You basically just called my entire career path messy!"

Mark smirked. "Was I wrong?"

Haechan seethed. "Putangina, I swear to God—"

"Relax, Lee." Mark leaned forward slightly. "I meant it as a compliment."

Haechan froze. "Ano?"

Mark tilted his head. "Journalists disrupt things. You make people uncomfortable. You expose things that most people want to ignore. I don’t think that’s a bad thing."

Haechan stared at him. Because what the fuck. Mark just… admitted that? He agreed? And now Haechan didn’t know how to argue back. So instead, he grabbed Mark’s coffee and took a sip out of pure spite.

Mark blinked. "Did you just—"

"Oo," Haechan said, swallowing the bitter liquid. "Anong gagawin mo?"

Mark’s eyes darkened just slightly. "Careful, Lee. That almost looked like flirting."

Haechan immediately choked. FUCK.

**

The problem with pretending nothing changed was that everyone else could see right through them. And Renjun, Jeno, Jaemin, and Jaehyun? Were having the time of their lives watching this mess unfold.

"I give them a month," Jaemin mused, sipping his overpriced coffee.

Jaehyun raised an eyebrow. "Before what?"

"Before one of them snaps and kisses the other in the middle of an argument."

Jaehyun hummed. "Two weeks, actually."

Meanwhile, on the UP side of things—

"Babe, just admit it," Renjun sighed, watching as Haechan definitely didn’t keep glancing at his phone. "You like him."

"I do not—"

"Babe.”

"Tangina, fine! Maybe I don’t hate him as much as I thought I did!"

Renjun smirked. "Progress."

**

That night, Mark got another notification.

Haechan: This is stupid, but that article was good. Don’t get used to the compliment.

Mark stared at the message. Then, slowly, he typed back.

Mark: Noted. But I’ll take it anyway.

And even though they weren’t ready to name it yet, they both knew—

Something had already changed.

**

Haechan was losing his mind. And it was all Mark Lee’s fault. Because lately, everything felt off. Mark was still Mark—annoying, competitive, law-student-brained—but now, he was also something else. Something Haechan couldn’t figure out. 

And the worst part? Mark wasn’t trying to be different. He wasn’t doing anything special. He was just… there.

Too much. Too close. Too fucking everywhere. And Haechan didn’t know what to do about it.

**

It happened after another stupid debate. One moment, they were arguing outside a UP café. The next—

"What is your fucking problem, Mark?!"

Mark exhaled sharply. "You. You are my problem, Haechan."

And just like that, the air shifted. Haechan’s breath caught. Mark looked at him—really looked at him. Like he was pissed, exhausted, and something else Haechan didn’t want to name.

"You keep pushing me, Lee." Mark’s voice was low, rough. "You make everything feel like a fight. You get under my skin, and I—“ He stopped himself. Jaw clenched. Fists tight.

Haechan’s heart was pounding. "And what?" he demanded.

Mark didn’t answer. Not with words. Instead, he took one step closer. And for the first time, Haechan didn’t step back. 

The space between them was too small. Mark’s breath was warm against his skin, and fuck, fuck, fuck— Haechan should have said something. Should have made a joke, thrown an insult, anything to break the tension. But he didn’t.

Because suddenly, this wasn’t about debating anymore. It wasn’t about winning. It was about them.

Mark exhaled. "Haechan—"

And Haechan panicked. So he did the only thing he could think of. He shoved Mark back. Hard.

"You need to leave."

Mark stilled. And for a moment, Haechan thought he would fight back. But instead, Mark just nodded once, tightly—then turned and walked away. And Haechan hated how much he regretted it.

That night, Haechan couldn’t sleep. His mind kept replaying that moment—Mark, standing too close. Mark, looking at him like that.

Like he wanted something. Like he wasn’t just fighting anymore.

And the worst part? Haechan had wanted it, too.

He groaned, covering his face with his pillow. "Putangina." He was so fucked.

**

Jaemin stared at him. "You walked away?"

Mark sighed, running a hand through his hair. "What else was I supposed to do?"

Jaehyun smirked. "I can think of a few things."

Mark glared at him. "Not helping."

Jaemin leaned back. "Mark. You like him."

Mark groaned. "I know."

Jaemin blinked. "Wait, what?"

Jaehyun raised an eyebrow. "Damn, I was not expecting self-awareness this early."

Mark sighed. "I just… don’t know what to do about it."

Jaemin smirked. "You could always try talking to him."

Mark huffed a laugh. "Right. Because that went so well last time."

Jaehyun nodded. "So what’s the plan?"

Mark exhaled. He didn’t have one. But one thing was certain. Ignoring this wasn’t an option anymore.

**

Haechan had spent his entire life knowing how to run. Not physically—he was a terrible sprinter—but in the way that mattered.

He knew how to avoid things before they became problems. How to change the subject when a conversation got too personal. How to pretend he didn’t care before someone had the chance to prove him wrong.

It had always worked. Until now. Because somehow, Mark fucking Lee had become the one thing he couldn’t run from. And Haechan hated that. Or at least, he wanted to. But when he thought about the way Mark looked at him that night, about the way his own heart had fucking betrayed him, all he could feel was something terrifyingly close to regret.

**

The art of avoidance  (and why it’s failing miserably for Haechan). The first mistake was thinking that if he just ignored the problem, it would go away. It didn’t. Instead, it followed him everywhere.

In the way his stomach twisted uncomfortably whenever someone mentioned Mark’s name.

In the way he kept checking his phone out of habit, waiting for a notification that never came.

In the way Renjun and Jeno kept watching him like he was some kind of ticking time bomb.

"Babe," Renjun said one evening, voice painfully patient, "if you sigh one more time, I’m going to throw you out the window."

"Tangina, wala akong ginagawa!" Haechan snapped.

Jeno looked up from his laptop. "Actually, you have been sighing a lot lately."

"Gago ka rin."

Renjun smirked. "Let me guess. Mark Lee?"

Haechan scoffed. "Hindi nga! Bakit parang siya na lang umiikot sa utak niyo?!"

Renjun raised an eyebrow. "Babe, ikaw kaya ‘tong nagmumukmok diyan parang na-ghost ng jowa."

Jeno nodded. "Tama. Ang difference lang, hindi mo naman siya jowa. Not yet, anyway."

"PUTANGINA, HINDI NGA!"

Haechan grabbed a pillow and launched it across the room.

Renjun caught it easily, looking too smug for Haechan’s liking. "Denial is a disease, babe."

Haechan groaned and buried his face in his hands. Because the worst part? The absolute, fucking worst part? He was starting to think Renjun might be right.

**

Mark, meanwhile, was equally fucked. If Jaemin and Jaehyun were tired of Mark’s bullshit, they didn’t show it. Probably because they were too busy enjoying the show.

"You’re being dramatic," Jaemin said, watching as Mark stared at his phone like it was going to spontaneously combust.

"I’m not," Mark muttered, very much being dramatic.

Jaehyun raised an eyebrow. "You’ve been staring at his name for five minutes, bro. Just text him."

Mark exhaled. "I don’t know what to say."

Jaemin smirked. "That’s a first."

Mark shot him a glare, but he couldn’t argue. Because the truth was, he had no idea what to do. He and Haechan had spent so much time defining themselves by their arguments, their rivalry, their endless back-and-forth.

But that night—when they had come so fucking close to saying something they couldn’t take back—it had changed everything. And Mark didn’t know how to come back from that. So he didn’t. Instead, he did what he did best. He buried himself in work.

Mock trial preparation. Legal research. Case studies.

Anything to keep his mind off of UP, off of Haechan, off of the way his chest had felt too fucking tight that night. But no matter how much he tried to drown himself in responsibilities, it didn’t work. Because at the end of the day— Haechan was still there. Lingering in the back of his mind. And Mark didn’t know how to make it stop.

**

It took a week. A full fucking week before everything finally snapped. It was late—too late—when Haechan got the text.

Mark: Are you still at campus?

Haechan frowned, staring at the screen. He should have ignored it. He should have. But instead, his fingers moved before his brain could catch up.

Haechan: Yeah. Why?

There was a long pause. Then—

Mark: Meet me at Sunken Garden.

Haechan’s stomach flipped. He stared at the message, trying to convince himself he wasn’t going to go. That it didn’t matter. That whatever had almost happened last time was nothing. But before he could even think twice, his legs were already moving. And that was when he knew— He was fucked.

Mark was already there when Haechan arrived, standing under the dim glow of a streetlamp, hands shoved into his pockets. For a moment, Haechan just looked at him. Because Mark looked— Tired. Like he hadn’t slept in days. Like something was eating him alive from the inside. And the worst part? Haechan understood exactly how that felt.

"You wanted to talk?" Haechan asked, keeping his voice steady.

Mark exhaled, turning to face him. "Yeah." A pause. Then— "I don’t know what the fuck is happening between us."

Haechan froze.

Mark ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. "I just—" He shook his head. "It’s been a week, and I can’t stop thinking about that night. And I don’t—" He exhaled sharply. "I don’t know how to deal with this."

Haechan’s chest tightened. Because fuck, fuck, fuck. This was real. They weren’t pretending anymore. And now, standing there under the soft glow of campus lights, Haechan had a choice. To keep running. Or to finally, finally face the truth.

He took a breath. Then, slowly—carefully—he said, "Me neither."

And just like that— There was no turning back.

**

Haechan had always known how to talk his way out of things. There was an art to it—knowing when to throw in sarcasm, when to push a little harder, when to let silence do the heavy lifting.

He knew how to turn words into weapons. Knew how to shift the weight of an argument so that, even when he lost, it still felt like winning.

But tonight, words were failing him. And it was because of Mark fucking Lee .

"You don’t know either?" Mark’s voice was steady—controlled—but there was something tight in it, something that made Haechan feel like they were standing on the edge of something neither of them knew how to name.

Haechan swallowed. "No."

Mark didn’t react immediately. He just looked at him, gaze unreadable, eyes dark beneath the dim glow of the Sunken Garden lamps.

Haechan didn’t like it. Didn’t like how quiet Mark was being. Didn’t like how different this felt from all their other fights. Didn’t like how this wasn’t a fight at all. Because for the first time, it wasn’t about winning. It was about them. And Haechan wasn’t sure if he was ready for that.

Mark sighed, tilting his head back slightly like he was trying to find the right words. Or maybe just trying to find a way out of this. "It’s just—" He stopped, exhaled sharply. "You get under my skin, Lee."

Haechan’s stomach flipped. He knew how to argue. He knew how to counter, how to turn words around and throw them back harder. But right now? Right now, he had nothing. Because the way Mark said it—like it wasn’t just frustration, like it wasn’t just an insult—threw him completely off balance. And Haechan had no fucking idea how to deal with that. So he went for instinct. For what he knew. For what was safe.

"I get under your skin?" He forced himself to scoff. "Gago, ikaw kaya ‘yung pinaka-bwisit na taong nakilala ko sa buong buhay ko."

Mark let out a low chuckle, but there was no real humor in it. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." A pause. A beat of silence. Then— "Then why do I keep ending up here?"

Haechan’s breath caught. And fuck, fuck, fuck— There it was. The real question. The one they had both been avoiding for weeks. Why did Mark keep showing up? And why did Haechan keep letting him? And why— Why did it feel like they were one wrong move away from something they couldn’t take back?

Mark took a step forward. It wasn’t much—barely anything, really—but Haechan felt it. Felt it in the way his chest tightened , in the way the air between them suddenly felt too thick , in the way his body tensed like something was about to happen.

And Haechan— Haechan should have stepped back. Should have laughed it off, shoved Mark away, thrown another insult into the air to remind them both that this wasn’t real. But he didn’t. He stayed. And that was the most dangerous part.

"Mark—"

"Just answer me," Mark said, voice low, controlled, but so fucking tired. Like he had spent too long thinking about this already. Like he needed Haechan to give him something. "Why do we keep ending up here, Lee?"

Haechan’s pulse hammered. Because Mark was asking for the truth. And Haechan— Haechan had never been good at telling the truth when it mattered. So instead, he did what he always did. What was easier. What wouldn’t ruin everything. "You tell me."

Mark searched his face. Looked at him like he was trying to find something. Like he was waiting for a different answer.

And for a second—just a second—Haechan thought he was going to say it. Thought he was going to break the tension, rip the thread, let the words finally spill out. But then—

Mark exhaled. And stepped back. And the air between them snapped like a rubber band pulled too tight. "Forget it," Mark muttered, shaking his head. "This was a mistake."

Haechan felt it. Felt the moment Mark chose to let this go. And it made him fucking panic. Because this felt like a choice. Like Mark was giving him an out. And if Haechan let him walk away now— That would be it.

So before he could think, before he could convince himself that running was safer, his hand shot out— And grabbed Mark’s wrist. Again. And this time— He didn’t let go.

**

There were two types of silence.

The first was comfortable—the kind that stretched between friends sitting on a rooftop at midnight, the kind that settled after a long day when words weren’t needed, the kind that was easy.

The second was suffocating—the kind that weighed too heavy, the kind that stretched too long, the kind that felt like it was choking the air out of the room.

Right now, standing under the streetlights with Mark’s wrist still in his grip, Haechan was drowning in the second kind. Because this wasn’t just silence.

This was the silence before something broke.

**

Mark didn’t pull away. Didn’t say anything. He just stood there, still, like he was waiting. Like he was giving Haechan a chance to fix whatever the hell this was before it shattered completely.

And Haechan— Haechan didn’t know what to do. Because the problem with moments like this was that they weren’t planned.

They just happened—too fast, too intense, too fucking real—and suddenly you were standing in the middle of an empty campus at midnight, holding onto someone you were supposed to hate but didn’t, realizing that you were one wrong word away from changing everything.

And Haechan wasn’t sure if he was ready for that. Or if he even had a choice anymore.

"Haechan." Mark’s voice was low, steady, but there was an edge to it. Not anger. Not frustration. Something else. Something heavier. "Ano bang gusto mo?"

Haechan swallowed. "I—" He didn’t know. Didn’t know what he wanted. Didn’t know why he couldn’t just let Mark walk away like he had so many times before. All he knew was that this felt different. That the thought of Mark leaving right now, of this being the last conversation they had like this, of this moment slipping away without either of them acknowledging it for what it really was— It made something in his chest feel too tight, too wrong, too unbearable. And that scared him. 

So instead of answering, he did what he always did. He deflected. "Gago ka kasi." His voice came out lighter than it should have. "Ikaw ang nag-text, tapos ikaw ang aalis? Ang hassle mo, Lee."

Mark exhaled, shaking his head. "Of course."

"Ano?"

Mark finally pulled his wrist free. And this time, Haechan let him.

"You can’t even be honest with yourself, can you?" Mark’s voice was quieter now, but there was something sharp beneath it. "You’d rather make a joke out of everything just so you don’t have to fucking deal with it."

Haechan tensed. "Deal with what?"

Mark laughed, but it wasn’t amused. It was frustrating, like he had already lost before the argument even started. "Forget it, Lee."

And Haechan panicked. Because no— That wasn’t the answer. That wasn’t how this was supposed to go. That wasn’t what he wanted. But fuck, fuck, fuck— He still didn’t know how to say it.

**

Haechan had always been good at speaking. Words were his thing. They were how he made sense of the world, how he fought back, how he won. But right now? Right now, words weren’t enough. Because what was he supposed to say? 

That Mark was right? That this—whatever the fuck this was—had been twisting inside his chest for weeks? That he hated how much space Mark took up in his mind, hated how much he noticed him, hated that he didn’t want to stop?

That for all the ways they fought each other, all the ways they had convinced themselves that this was just rivalry— It had never been that simple? That it had never been just that?

Haechan could already feel the words forming—heavy, dangerous, impossible. And if he said them out loud, if he admitted it, if he let this thing between them become real— Then what?

"Mark—"

Mark turned back, expression unreadable. And Haechan—stupid, reckless, running-on-instinct Haechan—stepped closer. Too close. Close enough that he could see the way Mark’s breath hitched, see the way his hands curled into fists like he was trying to hold something back.

And for a second— For a brief, fleeting, terrifying second— Haechan thought Mark might close the rest of the distance. That he wouldn’t be the one who had to say it first.

That maybe— just maybe —Mark would make the choice for him. But then— Mark exhaled sharply and stepped back. Again. And Haechan felt it this time. Felt the way it was different. The way it wasn’t just Mark walking away. It was Mark choosing to stop trying. And Haechan— Haechan let him.

Mark left. And Haechan stood there—rooted to the spot, hands clenched, heart fucking aching in a way he didn’t understand. Because he should have said something. He should have stopped him. Should have been brave. But he wasn’t. Because this wasn’t a debate. This was something bigger. And Haechan—for once in his life was too fucking scared to lose.

**

Haechan didn’t know how long he stood there, staring at the empty space where Mark had been just moments ago. Time felt strange, stretched too thin and too tight all at once, like he was stuck in the wrong timeline of his own life. The air around him was still heavy, thick with the weight of things unsaid, and yet Mark was gone. Just like that. No parting shot, no lingering hesitation, just the sound of footsteps fading into the distance, leaving Haechan standing in the aftermath of something that had unraveled too fast for him to hold onto.

And he let him go.

That was the part that kept replaying in his head, over and over again, like a scratched-up record refusing to move on to the next track. He had let him go. He had watched Mark’s back retreat into the night, had felt the weight of his own silence press down on him like a crushing tide, and he had done nothing. Said nothing. Stood there like a fucking idiot while something slipped away that he wasn’t ready to name yet.

But it was too late for that now, wasn’t it?

Except… it didn’t feel like it.

Haechan had spent years perfecting the art of moving on. He had always known how to let things roll off his shoulders, how to pretend things mattered less than they did, how to brush off feelings before they could turn into something that had the power to hurt. It was easier that way. Safer. Feelings only become problems when you let them fester, when you let them root themselves into places they didn’t belong. He knew that. He had spent his entire life believing it.

But as he stood there, in the middle of an empty street, staring down the direction Mark had walked away in, he felt something new. Something unfamiliar, something that twisted in his chest in a way he didn’t understand. Because this time, moving on didn’t feel easy. It didn’t feel natural, like something inevitable. It felt wrong. Like something was unfinished. Like he was standing on the edge of a moment that hadn’t been given the chance to become what it was supposed to be.

It was terrifying.

Because Haechan knew, deep down, that there was no coming back from this.

Because this wasn’t just about Mark leaving. This wasn’t just about an argument left unresolved, or an article left unanswered, or a fight left unfinished. This wasn’t about debates or bylines or even whatever the fuck had been simmering beneath the surface for weeks.

This was about Mark.

Mark, who had gotten too close. Mark, who had pushed in a way that no one else ever had. Mark, who had always been an opponent, an annoyance, an infuriating presence that Haechan had built entire arguments around, like they were two opposing forces that could never exist without tension between them. Mark, who had become a constant.

Mark, who had left, and taken something with him. And Haechan hated that. He hated the way it made his stomach twist uncomfortably, hated the way his hands clenched into fists like he wanted to pull time backward and do it over, hated the way the ache in his chest didn’t fade even when he told himself this was how things were supposed to go.

He hated that he cared.

That was the worst part.

The fact that it mattered.

The fact that Mark had walked away, and it wasn’t relief sitting in his chest—it was something sharp, something bitter, something dangerously close to regret. The fact that Mark had stopped pushing—had looked at him like he was tired of trying, like Haechan was the one making this difficult, like he was waiting for Haechan to say something—and Haechan had done nothing.

And now, standing in the cold, with his thoughts looping over themselves in an endless spiral of what ifs, he realized something terrifying.

He didn’t want Mark to leave. Not like this. Not at all.

The thought landed like a brick to the chest, heavy and suffocating, and he almost doubled over from the sheer weight of it. Fuck. He didn’t know what to do with this. He didn’t know how to process this, how to take this tangled mess of feelings and straighten it into something that made sense. He had spent so long treating Mark like a challenge, an opponent, a name in a byline that made his blood boil in all the right ways—when had it become more than that?

When did it become this? This impossible, infuriating ache lodged so deep inside him that he couldn’t ignore it anymore? Maybe it had always been there. Maybe he had just been too stubborn, too afraid, too stupid to acknowledge it for what it really was. Or maybe this was the moment it became undeniable. Maybe this was the moment he had to stop running.

Haechan inhaled sharply, closing his eyes for a second, feeling his pulse hammering too fast beneath his skin. He needed to make a decision. He needed to either let this be the end, let Mark walk away for good and pretend it didn’t matter—pretend he could live with it—or he needed to stop him.

And the thing was… He had never been good at letting things go.

His feet were already moving before he could think twice about it. He wasn’t entirely sure when he started running, or when his legs decided they were done standing still, but suddenly he was moving, chasing after something he wasn’t sure he’d even be able to reach.

But he had to try. Because the thought of not trying, of letting Mark believe for even one second that Haechan didn’t care— That was worse than anything else.

He didn’t know what he was going to say. He didn’t know if words were even enough anymore. But he knew he couldn’t let Mark leave without saying something. Without doing something.

Because this wasn’t a fight he could afford to lose. And for once in his life, Haechan wasn’t running away. He was running toward. But it was too late.

**

Mark sat in his father’s office, back straight, hands resting on his lap, face blank.

This was a performance he had mastered a long time ago—sitting still, answering when expected, never reacting too much. His father had never been one for theatrics. Emotions were distractions, personal feelings were irrelevant. In his world, the only thing that mattered was winning. And Mark had never been allowed to forget that.

Across from him, his father flipped through a case file, not even bothering to look up when he spoke. "The firm has high expectations for you."

Mark’s fingers curled slightly against his leg. "I know."

"Do you?" His father finally glanced at him, sharp and calculating, like he was assessing a case, not talking to his son. "Because lately, I’ve been hearing less about your mock trial performance and more about your little... student debates."

Mark exhaled slowly, carefully keeping his expression neutral. "They’re not distractions."

"They’re not useful." His father leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. "Mark, you can waste your energy arguing with student journalists, or you can focus on real influence. The kind that actually changes things. The kind that happens in a courtroom, not in opinion columns. "

Mark clenched his jaw, the words hitting harder than he wanted to admit. Because he had heard this before. Because this was exactly what he had been trying not to think about. Because deep down, a part of him still wasn’t sure if his father was wrong.

The law was supposed to be the answer. The solution. And yet— Why did it feel like the only time he ever really got to fight for what he believed in was outside of it?

His father watched him carefully. "Do you know why I’ve worked so hard to build my reputation?"

Mark didn’t answer. Because he already knew. Because he had been raised on this lesson, had had it drilled into his mind over and over until it felt like a law of nature.

"Because influence is power," his father continued. "Not passion. Not idealism. Influence. And if you don’t have that, Mark, then no matter how well you argue, no one is going to listen to you."

Mark inhaled sharply. "I understand."

His father nodded, like that was all he needed to hear. "Then act like it."

And just like that, the conversation was over. But Mark knew the weight of it wouldn’t leave. Because this wasn’t just pressure. This was expectation. And no matter how much he wanted to believe otherwise—this was the life that had already been chosen for him.