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Commentators called them opposites.
“Suh is calculated, controlled, he knows exactly when to strike, and when to hold back.”
“Lee is instinct. He moves fast, makes split-second decisions. He’s unpredictable in a way that makes him impossible to contain.”
Every sports network had weighed in. ESPN ran segments on “The Suh-Lee Era,” analyzing their last ten matchups. Olympic analysts debated whether one of the new members of the Canada national team, Mark Lee, had finally closed the gap on U.S. national team’s veteran Johnny Suh's dominance. Twitter was flooded with slow-motion replays of their best plays, side-by-side comparisons, breakdowns of their training routines.
The air inside the center was heavy, Canada vs U.S. was always a battle, a clash between two teams built for endurance, strength, and control. In the water, there were no breaks, no pauses, just constant movement, constant struggle.
And at the middle of it were Johnny and Mark.
Johnny played with absolute control. He didn’t react, he anticipated, always two, three moves ahead of everyone, shutting down attacks before they could form. He was efficient, methodical, built for high-pressure moments. Johnny dictated the pace, set the standard, his teammates relied on him and his opponents dreaded him. In the water, he was sharp, unreadable, impossible to shake.
Mark was relentless. Where Johnny was calculated, Mark was fast, unpredictable. He pushed forward, dodging defenders with quick, instinctive movements, always searching for an opening. Off the field, he overthought everything, analyzing, doubting, second-guessing. But in the water, his body took over, making decisions before his mind could catch up. A second too late, and he was already gone.
They had faced each other countless times. Each match, the same fight, Johnny controlling the game and Mark trying to break it apart, neither willing to back down until the last few seconds of the fourth quarter
Mark could hear a clock ticking inside his head, maybe it was just his heartbeat hammering against his ribs while his eyes moved around the perimeter til meeting with Johnny's sharp gaze, reddened eyes and wet hair sticking on his forehead, he was following his every move, he knew .
Johnny had studied Mark for so long, he knew how unpredictable Mark could be, just waiting for the perfect second, the slight hesitation from Johnny’s defender to make his move, launching his body forward.
But Mark wasn’t the only one who could play the role of the unpredictable.
By the moment Mark twisted mid-shot, Johnny was already there, he could feel his body colliding against his, blocking his last chance.
The buzzer sounded, the cheers from the other side of the place echoing through the high ceiling, Mark blinks as Johnny moves to his own team celebrating as well, they’re hugging him and screaming while Johnny laughs and tries to keep himself on the surface.
Mark stays there, gasping as his hands clenched into fists and he rips the cap off his head, running his fingers through his wet hair, body buzzed with frustration, but when Mark turned, avoiding looking at his team, Johnny is already watching him from across the pool, water dripping from his face, and that infuriatingly calm expression on his face.
Mark hated him.
Mark wanted him.
And maybe, that was the problem.
-
Mark bid Chenle goodbye, he watched him take the elevator and waited patiently, j ust in case, before walking through the hall until he recognized the room number and opened the door quietly, shoulders relaxing when he closed behind his back.
Johnny was still damp from the shower, leaning against the headboard, watching Mark pace back and forth, towel slung around his neck. “You’re overthinking it, again,” he said, sounding amused.
Mark whirled around, lips pressed in a thin line before speaking. “You knew I was going left.”
There was a tug on his lips, plump and pink, Mark watched as Johnny shrugged. “Of course I did.”
Mark threw his towel at him, rolling his eyes at Johnny when he catched the wet fabric effortlessly, for a moment neither of them spoke.
Then, with a tired and annoyed sigh, Mark crawled onto the bed, sitting on Johnny’s lap, and pressing his face against his neck, “I hate you.”
Johnny smirked, Mark felt his hand caress the back of his head, fingers pressed in like a soft massage on his scalp. “No, you don’t.”
Mark’s ground got muffled against warm skin, he kept his eyes closed. He hated how easy Johnny could shut him, turn off the constant chanting flooding his head from the moment Mark stepped into his arms, he breathed in the familiar musky cologne, the calm breathing, and suddenly the images of their match replaying over and over in his brain stopped.
“You were incredible out there, almost slipping through,” Johnny murmured, his voice softer now.
“Well, clearly not incredible enough, I don’t need your pity, hyung.” Mark huffed.
“Yet.”
That simple word and the tone slipping from his tongue, made Mark pause, he looked up, enough to look at Johnny’s face, there was the quiet confidence, unwavering belief. Like he could see, like he knew Mark was going to become someone even greater than this.
That look in his eyes made Mark’s stomach tighten.
He reached out, fingers curling on Johnny’s nape, dragging him down until their faces were close, until the distance didn’t exist anymore, lips pressed into a kiss.
Johnny tasted like the chlorine they both soaked in for hours and minty toothpaste, Mark moaned opening his mouth, wanting to lose himself in his lips, it wasn’t soft nor careful, he felt blinded by how needy he felt. The whole tension building for weeks, days and hours they were apart competing around the world.
Johnny lets him take control first, let Mark grind against his abdomen, fingers tightening around his nape. Only to take him by surprise, he flipped them, pressing Mark’s back against the mattress, hands gripping onto his shoulder and a surprised whimper from him. His lips dragged along Mark’s jaw, tracing the sharp structure with his tongue, feeling his pulse, slow and deliberate, like he was reminding Mark who had actually won that night.
Mark hated that he let him.
He exhaled sharply, twisting beneath Johnny, trying to regain some leverage, some control but it was useless, where Mark was lean, and strong, built in muscle, Johnny was even bigger, stronger, he could pin him down with no struggle. Mark’s breath caught as Johnny’s mouth ghosted over his throat, teasing and sending chills all over his body.
Mark turned his head, biting back at the heat curling up his spine. “You’re an asshole.”
“You love it, baby,” he laughed, all breathy.
Maybe he did love it, Mark thought as he pushed him off, maybe he loved the way Johnny always got under his skin, how every tease and annoying smile could bring that fuzzy feeling all over his body. It didn’t matter how many times they fought in the pool, how many articles and notes about their rivalry existed, how obviously they enjoyed pushing each other’s limits, everything ended when they end up there, tangled together in sheets, fucking in hotel rooms and hiding in the shadows of every city they competed in.
It was a problem.
It was their problem, though.
-
Dating Johnny was a logistical nightmare.
Mark had known that from the beginning, had accepted it in the way an athlete accepted an injury, an inevitable part of the game. Even if it wasn’t Johnny, he had tried before, dating while managing a tight schedule that made him be all around the world was impossible, at least until Johnny, Mark never actually had the desire of trying until him.
Both of their schedules were relentless, constantly moving across the globe, almost impossible to be in the same city, always training, competing in qualifiers, and in international tournaments. When Mark was in Australia, Johnny was in South America. When Johnny had a break, Mark was on the other side of the world.
And even if the stars aligned and they were both in the same city once in a while, it was almost impossible to go on dates.
When Mark started his career on the national team, he discovered that surprisingly water polo fans were insane, they took it personally and there was an inevitable war going on between Canada and USA, the media, the analyst, and of course, the fans played into the idea of both teams being rivals.
So Mark and Johnny had to be extremely careful sneaking around.
No public dates, no sitting next to each other in post-game conferences, no slipping into each other’s hotel (which honestly, they both failed to not do) and no lingering after matches, even when they wanted nothing more than to drag each other into the nearest empty locker room.
Their relationship existed in the spaces between.
The nights spent in hidden hotel rooms, bodies pressed together, sticky and warm, lazy kisses until both fell asleep, then the next morning Mark would sneak out in a hoodie double his size, hiding his bruised and kissed skin, pack his luggage and walk out as if nothing happened, greet his teammates and get a car to the airport to get to their next tournament, Johnny would be there with the US national team, they would smile at each other while Keeho exchanges words with Eric, and Mark locks eyes with Johnny, teasing him by revealing the faint hickey on his neck.
Then, they both will be off to a different country, being left with only texting and calling late at night, the type that started with “Did you see me play in the Italy match? Do you think there was another strategy?” to soft whispers against the phone that ended with “I miss you.”
Mark didn’t know he could find joy in such small moments, he would smile looking at the blurry selfie of Johnny laying in a hotel room in Japan while he was getting ready for a tournament in Brazil, hiding his phone to avoid accidents like one of his friends seeing.
He couldn’t deny that all the secrecy and hiding was hard to overcome, that it was the hardest task to ever achieve when he entered the water and Johnny was across the pool and Mark had to focus on thinking that he needed to destroy him, instead of kissing him stupid.
The things that mattered were never easy, and Johnny mattered .
The first time they had actually called it dating had been a game in Spain, it was one of those strange tournaments where they could rest, getting a few days between matches.
Mark’s team had played against the Argentinian team and had won, so Johnny texted him to take him out. Their hotel was the home of uncountless teams from all around the world and Mark had giggle while he zipped his sweater and walked towards the back exit with his head down, avoiding looking around in case someone recognized him, Johnny was waiting for him there, phone in hand as they waited for an uber, they kept distance even if Mark could see their fingers trying to connect like two teenagers on a first date.
Once in the car Mark launched his body on Johnny, hearing his laugh against his cheek, before feeling a wet kiss pressed on his skin, “How was it?”
“You were amazing, Lee.”
And that was more than enough to get Mark giddy.
Johnny got them a reservation in a fancy restaurant, closed doors where they could not be seen, where they could express without restrictions, a whole bottle of wine and a few stolen kisses. They had ended up in Johnny’s hotel room, exhausted and bruised, tangled in sheets.
Mark had been sprawled on his stomach, watching as Johnny scrolled through his phone, the soft glow of the scream illuminating his face. They weren’t talking, weren’t doing too much of anything, but it was nice and quiet, the kind of quiet that only came when you were comfortable with someone in a way that didn't need words.
And then, out of nowhere, Johnny had said, “So, I told my mom about you.”
Mark choked on air.
“You– you what?”
Johnny smirked, locking his phone and tossing it onto the nightstand. “Relax, I didn’t tell her everything. Just that I was dating someone.”
Mark pushed himself up onto his elbows, staring curious and cautious. “And she didn’t ask who?”
“Oh, she asked.” Johnny stretched, entirely too calm, “I just told her he was annoying, childish, an overthinker by profession, and talked too much about work.”
Mark rolled his eyes, pushing him. Johnny laughed, easily dodging the hit, and for a moment, everything felt simple, like they were two persons with normal jobs, with normal lives in a perfectly calm relationship.
He exhaled, his fingers brushing over the tattoo on Johnny’s arm. “Dating, huh?”
Johnny looked at him, not with the teasing amusement he always had, but something quieter, something raw and real. “Yeah.”
Mark didn’t answer right away, there weren't a lot of words that could help him describe the moment, he looked at the way Johnny’s eyes were softer, his hand tangled in his.
Mark knew that labeling what they had as a relationship was complicated, that working on this, and having to live from small moments was the only way to keep them alive, but it was still the best part of his world.
He swallowed, then nodded. “Yeah.”
-
It was Mark’s first gold medal with the Canadian national team.
The final whistle had blown in Los Angeles, echoing like a gunshot in the arena, and the scoreboard flashed with the numbers: Canada 12, Spain 10. Mark could barely hear the crowd over the pounding in his chest, his teammates swarmed him, shouts and splashes and arms thrown around each other like lifelines. He’d scored the final goal, a risky, over-the-shoulder shot he’d barely believed in until it sank into the net and now he was drenched in triumph.
The weight of years, of expectations, of whispering sports journalists calling him a “prodigy” but never a “ champion ,” finally lifted. And Mark, breathless and soaked to the bone, looked up into the stands and found Johnny.
Hidden behind a baseball cap and sunglasses, arms crossed and expression unreadable. But he was there. He’d stayed after the USA team had been eliminated in the semifinals. He hadn’t flown back with the others, he’d stayed for Mark.
So Mark skipped the celebratory dinner, he had let Johnny pull him into his hotel room, shut the door behind them in a hurry, quiet and sure, as though he didn’t need words. As though he’d known from the second he saw Mark on the podium, the gold medal around his neck, that this was what they’d both needed.
They didn’t say much at first.
Johnny pulled Mark close, water-streaked hair clinging to his forehead. His fingers found the zipper of Mark’s duffel and tossed it to the floor without a second thought. Mark laughed, dizzy on adrenaline and desire.
“You looked good,” Johnny murmured, pushing Mark gently toward the bed. “A bit cocky. Loud. Lucky.”
“Shut up,” Mark grinned, breathless, backing up until the edge of the mattress caught his knees. “You cried when I scored that last goal.”
“I did not.”
“You did. I saw it.”
Johnny didn’t argue. He leaned in and kissed him, hungry and hurried, Mark giggled as Johnny pressed wet kisses on his skin, hands moving fast, pulling the jacket out and thrown away.
Johnny tugged Mark closer, nuzzling his cheek. "I can't believe how you scored the winning point."
Mark grinned, feeling Johnny's lips brush against his skin, and his eyes flutter. "Believe it, baby, I’m coming for your throne.”
There was something about the way the word rolled off his tongue. Mark was cocky, confident in his own skin with the adrenaline still running through him. He loved to push Johnny's buttons, loved the way he could make his eyes darkened, how Johnny would grip him by the hips and push him on the bed.
Mark stripped slowly, deliberately, letting Johnny worship him with his eyes, hungry and hard. His hands moved slow and steady, sliding under the hem of his shirt, pushing it up inch by torturous inch to reveal the pale expanse of his skin, his stomach, his chest. He shivered as the cool air kissed his heated flesh, goosebumps spreading like wildfire across his skin.
Johnny didn't take off his own clothes, not yet, content to kneel on the bed and drink in the sight before him. Mark had to close his eyes, embarrassment warming his cheeks as he felt exposed, vulnerable, and yet, utterly desired.
"You did so well," Johnny murmured, his voice a low rumble against Mark's ear. "Did you know that?"
Mark swallowed hard, a shudder racing down his spine at the sincerity laced in those words. Those words had been spoken countless times, but never as sweetly, as deeply, as softly as when Johnny said them. It was different. And better. Because there was pride, and desire, and something sweeter still; something raw and delicate, something that whispered promises..
Johnny claimed his earlobe between his teeth, tugging gently, and Mark arched, sighing, giving himself over to the sensation. “Keep your hands there,” he ordered, his voice soft, commanding. The thrill was palpable, the anticipation building.
Johnny shed his clothes, taking his time, peeling off his shirt, then his pants, his underwear, revealing his cock heavy and thick, curved and slick with need, and Mark bit his lip, mouth watering at the sight. He trembled, aching to touch, to taste, to feel.
“Johnny, please...”
The request was met with a smile, before Johnny's hand wrapped around Mark’s own hardness. Mark moaned, arching up into the touch, helpless to anything but the pleasure coursing through him. It felt good, so very good, and he wanted more. Wanted Johnny touching him, fucking him, marking him as his .
"Please, hyung," he begged, reaching for him, needing to feel the warmth of skin against skin. "Just fucking touch me."
Johnny obliged, wrapping his hand around him, stroking him slowly, and Mark cried out, the sensation overwhelming. He wanted this, wanted Johnny's weight on top of him, wanted the press of his body against his own.
"Gonna make you mine tonight, fill you up until you're screaming my name."
Mark shivered, his heart pounding wildly in his chest as he gazed up at Johnny, his own eyes filled with lust and adoration. "Yes," he whispered, his voice trembling with need. "Want your cock, want it deep inside me."
Johnny grinned, his hand moving from Mark's hip to tease along his inner thigh, inching higher and higher. "You’re so eager for me, aren't you? I love it."
Mark whimpered, arching into Johnny's touch, his hole clenching greedily around nothing. "Please, hyung," he begged, his voice high and needy. "Wanna feel you, wanna be ready for you.”
Mark pushed his hips forward in a silent plea. "Want it so bad," he admitted, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment and arousal. "Need your cock stretching me open, filling me up."
Johnny smirked, bringing his fingers down on Mark's ass in a sharp spank. "Mmm, listen to you, begging so sweetly for me." He moved to circle his rim again, the damp patch on his underwear telling him all he needed to know about Mark's anticipation.
Mark whimpered, his back bowing as Johnny worked his fingers into him, crooking them just so. "God, yes," he panted, grinding down onto Johnny's hand.
"Such an obedient boy," Johnny purred, easing two fingers inside him with a soft groan. "Gonna wreck this hole, make it mine. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
Mark moaned brokenly, his head dropping to Johnny's shoulder as he felt the first hint of fullness, pleasure sparking through his nerves like lightning. "Fuck," he gasped, trying to push back onto his fingers "More... please..."
With a low growl of approval, Johnny added a third finger, scissoring them roughly until Mark was whimpering and squirming beneath him. "Look at you, such a good little fucktoy for me. Gonna make you feel so good when I'm buried deep inside you, baby."
Mark's entire body quivered, his hole clenching desperately around Johnny's fingers as if trying to milk them for more. "Y-yes, hyung," he managed, his voice ragged with need. "Please... fill me up... I need it..."
Johnny hauled Mark up onto his knees, positioning him over the edge of the bed. "Kneel," he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. "Spread wide for me, winner .”
Mark scrambled to obey, positioning himself with his back arched and ass high in the air, giving Johnny a perfect view of his stretched, pink rim, glistening with precum and arousal. "Like this?" he asked breathlessly, holding still, waiting.
"Perfect," Johnny nodded, his gaze dark and hungry as he traced the outline of Mark's entrance with his swollen tip. "I’ll open you up real nice before I stuff you full of my dick."
Mark whimpered, shivering at the promise in those words, at the way Johnny licked his lips. "P-please," he whispered, his voice quivering. "Gonna wring me dry..."
Johnny dipped down slowly, teasingly, letting Mark feel the thick head nudging against his rim. "Beg for it," he demanded, his other hand coming up to wrap around Mark's throat, applying just enough pressure to make him gasp. "Let me hear how much you want my cock splitting you open."
Mark moaned brokenly, tears springing to his eyes as Johnny slowly pushed forward, inch by tortuous inch, until he was seated fully on his hips. "Fuck," he gasped, fighting not to cum on the spot. "Hyung, please... want your cock inside me so bad... wanna be yours..."
"Mine, all mine," and with that declaration, he was slamming into him, burying himself balls deep in one strong thrust.
Mark screamed, his back bowing, his fingers scrabbling at the sheets as Johnny set a punishing pace, every snap of his hips driving the breath from his lungs. The pain of the stretch mingled deliciously with the pleasure, and Mark could only hang on for dear life, drowning in sensation.
"That's what I like to hear." He leaned over Mark, capturing his lips in a kiss as he began to move again, pushing deeper, harder, each thrust punching the air from Mark's lungs.
The obscene slap of skin on skin echoed through the room, mixing with Mark's desperate moans and Johnny's grunts of pleasure. Mark could feel every ridge and vein of Johnny's cock scraping deliciously along his inner walls, stoking the fires building low in his belly. He was so close already, teetering on the edge of oblivion, completely lost to the incredible sensations Johnny was inflicting upon him.
"Oh fuck, hyung," Mark gasped between ragged breaths, his hips bucking erratically to meet Johnny's increasingly rough thrusts. "Don't stop, please don't stop, gonna cum!"
Johnny groaned into Mark's neck, giving a particularly harsh grind against his prostate that had Mark seeing stars. "Do it then, cum for me like a good boy." His voice was hoarse, punctuated by sharp intakes of breath as he continued to pound away, his hips slapping hard against Mark's upturned ass.
And then, with a scream torn from his throat, Mark did just that, his hole clenching and milking Johnny's cock as he came, the sensations too intense to be contained. Johnny followed seconds later, his entire body tensing before he stiffened atop Mark, holding himself deep inside him as he filled him.
For a long moment, they remained frozen in place, bodies locked together in a perfect union of pleasure and completion. And when Johnny finally withdrew, carefully pulling out, Mark felt a small part of himself leave with him, an aching emptiness that made him want to reach out and drag him back. But instead, he turned over, curling into Johnny's side, feeling the warm stickiness between them as they both began to soften.
"Fuck," Mark panted, his eyes still closed, his breathing heavy and uneven. "That was... fucking amazing."
“Yeah, it was.” Johnny chuckled softly, stroking a hand through Mark's hair, his fingers gentle and soothing. "So," he murmured, kissing his cheek. "I'm thinking we order room service, take a bath, and then maybe I'll fuck you again, what do you say?"
-
Mark wasn’t sure when the pacing started. All he knew was the bathroom floor was cold, the walls felt too high and the silence in the room was unbearable.
The test blinked back at him.
Pregnant.
His heart was racing, palms clammy as he sat back on the edge of the tub, towel still wrapped around his waist from the shower he hadn’t even dried off from. His mind spun in ten directions at once: training schedules, federation rules, media speculation, what this meant for his body, for his life, for them . He could still feel Johnny’s hands on his hips from that night, could still hear the echo of their laughter through the hotel walls.
This wasn’t part of the plan.
There wasn’t even a plan to start with.
His phone buzzed on the counter, ironically, he read Johnny on the screen.
Mark stared at the name for a few seconds too long before answering. “Hey,” he said, voice raw.
“You sound like you’ve been crying,” Johnny replied casually, the softest tease behind his voice. “Don’t tell me you’re still sad about that goal I blocked in Argentina.”
Mark let out a shaky laugh. “Dick.”
Johnny chuckled. “I miss you too.”
There was a long pause. Mark swallowed hard. “I have to tell you something,” he said.
The silence on the other end stretched for a breath. “Okay. What’s up?”
Mark hesitated. He could say it. He could say, I’m pregnant. You’re the father. I don’t know what to do.
But then Johnny kept talking.
“Wait, before you do. You’re gonna love this. My coach told me they’re putting me in the Olympic press circuit early. Like, full tour. It’s insane. He said I’m becoming the face of the team. No pressure, right?” A laugh. “If I can survive three months of interviews and not throw myself in the pool, I’m golden.”
Mark’s stomach twisted.
“Oh,” he said quietly.
“Yeah. I’ve got barely a week before it starts. Then it’s training camps. Europe, Asia. Non-stop. I might not even get to go home for a while.”
Mark closed his eyes.
Of course.
This… this thing, this heartbeat inside him, it wasn’t part of Johnny’s path. Mark would become a detour. A mistake. He knew Johnny loved him, he did. But he also knew that Johnny was meant for greatness, and Mark… Mark was just chaos. A ripple in the water.
“Mark?” Johnny asked, more gently now. “What did you want to say?”
Mark’s throat tightened, he forced a smile into his voice. “Nothing,” he said. “It can wait.”
“You sure?”
Mark nodded, even though Johnny couldn’t see it. “Yeah. Go be the face of Team USA.”
Johnny laughed again. “Don’t sound so jealous, Canada.”
Mark smiled. “Talk soon?”
“Always.”
He hung up before Johnny could say anything else and the silence after the call rang louder than anything.
Mark sat there for a long time, towel damp beneath him, hair dripping on his forehead, test still flashing on the counter like it was mocking him.
Positive. Positive. Positive.
He pressed his palms to his face, dragging them down slowly. His throat still ached from holding back tears. The truth sat like lead in his gut, heavier than even the baby itself. Because it wasn’t just real, it was his. Theirs .
He didn’t sleep that night.
Mark tried to eat. Tried to distract himself. He ran drills in his head, waterwork formations, interview questions. Nothing stuck. Every path he envisioned cracked at the seams the second he tried to imagine telling Johnny.
And yet, a week later, he went to the doctor anyway.
He kept the cap low over his forehead as he sat in the waiting room, hands folded over the intake forms. He didn’t even know how to answer half of them. Do you have a support system? Do you plan to be a parent?
His hands shook.
When the nurse confirmed what the test already told him, he just nodded. She asked if he wanted to hear the heartbeat.
He said yes.
And when the sound filled the room, fast, fluttering, alive, Mark broke down all over again.
He didn’t stop crying the whole ride home.
That night, he sat at the window of his apartment with the lights off. Just the heartbeat ringing in his ears and Johnny’s laugh still echoing from days ago. He watched the streetcars rattle by. Thought about what it would be like to raise a child in the city. Wondered if it would look like him. Or Johnny.
If it would love water the way they both did.
And he thought: If I stay, he’ll find out. If I stay, he’ll come back and it’ll ruin everything for him. He deserves everything. He deserves his future.
Mark closed his eyes. His breath came shallow.
He wasn’t showing but in a few weeks his trainers might notice, the federation would ask questions. Whispers would grow. Johnny would hear them.
So he did the only thing that made sense to the part of him still trying to protect Johnny’s future.
He decided to leave.
Quickly. Quietly.
By morning, his passport and bags were ready.
The sun hadn’t even risen yet, and the apartment felt too quiet, like the world was holding its breath for him to make a decision.
He hadn’t slept. His eyes were red, and his chest still ached with the echo of Johnny’s voice, he had called a few nights ago, Mark had managed to laugh, pretend everything was fine. Trying to get a last clear laugh and sound of his voice.
He sat on the edge of the couch, hands buried in his hoodie sleeves, phone clutched like it might burn him.
It rang once. Twice.
“Dude?” Chenle answered, still groggy. “It’s, fuck, what, six a.m.? Are you okay?”
Mark didn’t say anything for a second, then he let out “I’m leaving.”
“…Leaving where?”
“Just… away.”
That made Chenle sit up. Mark could hear the rustling of sheets on the other end. “Okay, slow down. What happened? Is this about the match? Or… shit, is it Johnny?”
Mark laughed, but it cracked in the middle. “Yeah. Kind of. I—I’m pregnant.”
Silence.
Chenle didn’t respond immediately, and that alone made Mark feel like vomiting but when he did, his voice was soft. “Are you sure?”
“Three tests positive and I went to the doctor too. It’s real.”
“Holy—Mark. Okay, okay. Are you safe? Like...physically? What do you need?”
Mark wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie. “I’m fine. I just, I can’t tell him.”
Chenle exhaled slowly, the kind of sound that carried both concern and resignation. “He’d want to know.”
“I know,” Mark said, voice tight. “But he’s about to go global. Press tours. Olympics. Everything he’s worked for is finally happening. And me? I’ll be a fucking headline. ‘Rival Baby Drama: Canadian player Knocked Up by Team USA’s Golden Boy.’”
Chenle let out a bitter laugh. “God, they would eat that alive.”
“I can’t let him choose,” Mark whispered. “Between me and everything he’s trained for. I know him. He’d drop it all. He’d come for me. And he’d hate himself for it, later. I’m not going to be that reason.”
“…So what’s the plan?” Chenle asked, quiet.
Mark glanced toward the window, where the first edge of sunlight was beginning to peek through.
“I’m going to say I’m injured,” he said, voice steadier now. “Call the federation. Say it’s my shoulder again. I’ll drop out of the circuit for the year. I’ll change my number. Nuke my socials. I already deactivated everything this morning.”
“You’re going to disappear?”
“I’m not giving the world a story to spin,” Mark said. “And I’m not giving Johnny a choice to regret. He’s meant to be a legend. And I… I just need to figure out how to be a parent, I guess.”
There was a long silence on the line. Then Chenle spoke again, voice softer now.
“I’ll go with you, I’ll take some time off, the most I can.”
Mark’s throat caught. “You don’t have to—”
“Shut up. You’re not doing this alone. Not really.”
And somehow, that promise made the next step feel a little less like the edge of a cliff.
-
Five years later…
The medals didn’t mean what they used to.
They still hung in polished frames on the walls of Johnny’s condo, each one a testament to the years he gave to the sport, to the blood and bone he left in pools all over the world. His name had become something of a myth in water polo, he’d heard everything. Suh, the machine. Suh, the mind reader. Suh, the legend.
But lately, it just felt like noise.
“I’m not retiring,” Johnny said, untying the wrap from his wrist and flexing his fingers, slow from the last scrimmage.“I just need space. The city’s too loud.”
His coach didn’t argue. The old man had seen this coming for a while now. the way Johnny lingered in the water after practice, quieter than before, like he was chasing something he couldn’t find in medals anymore.
“You’re going to disappear to some quiet corner of the country and train on your own?” he asked, not unkindly, just curious.
Johnny nodded once. “Yeah.”
“You’re still doing one more season, right?”
Johnny’s jaw worked for a second before he replied. “Yeah. One more.”
It was the first time he’d said it out loud.
The coach didn’t press him. He just nodded slowly, like he understood what it meant to walk away before the world demanded it of you, to leave while you were still sharp enough to choose how you’d be remembered.
Johnny looked around the locker room, at the young players with hungry eyes and worn-out shoulders, all of them still chasing what he had already caught.
He wasn’t done. Not yet.
But he was getting there.
And maybe this was his way of easing out of it, alone, somewhere quiet, away from the roar of expectations and the ache of things left unsaid.
Especially the one thing he’d never been able to shake.
-
The quiet hit Johnny before he even stepped out of the car.
He rolled down the window. The sun was bright, but the air was calm, none of the usual city noise, none of the fans crowding sidewalks, no paparazzi trying to sneak shots through tinted glass. Just the soft rustle of trees and the low hum of life moving slower.
He’d chosen this place for exactly that, a town too small for headlines. A place where no one cared that he had once been.
He carried his bags and boxes up the stairs into a modest house. Unfurnished but clean. Simple. The kind of space that echoed when he walked.
He unpacked slowly. Hung two medals, just two, above his desk. The rest stayed in a box he left in the back of his attic.
Later, after setting up the basics, Johnny stood in the center of the living room with his hands on his hips. The silence pressed in, unfamiliar. For years, his life had been dictated by schedules, tournaments, travel. And now? It was just… him.
He needed water.
Not the ocean, not some luxury rooftop pool. He wanted the kind that smelled like chlorine and echoed with splashes and muffled whistles. The kind that reminded him of why he ever started.
He searched and found a community aquatic center less than fifteen minutes away. Nothing fancy as he could see in the pictures, just big glass windows, blue tiles, and a place to breathe.
The parking lot was mostly empty when he pulled in. A few cars. A minivan. Some bikes. Probably swim classes or rehab training going on. Nothing serious.
He didn’t expect much.
Johnny slipped into lane four, the one closest to the deep end, and let himself sink under. The silence down there was a different kind, muted, honest and it wrapped around his bones, keeping him steady.
He swam without counting laps. No stopwatch, no drills. Just the motion of his body cutting through water, long and practiced. For the first time in years, he felt the sport without the pressure.
Afterward, he sat on the tiled bench in the locker room, towel over his shoulders, steam curling around his feet. The place was nearly empty, just the way he liked it.
He showered slow. Let the water hit his neck, rinse the chlorine off his skin. By the time he dressed again, it was nearing late afternoon. The sun outside had shifted to gold, and for the first time in a few hours, he noticed the center had grown louder, echoes of high-pitched laughter bouncing down the corridor.
Kids.
He adjusted the strap of his gym bag, walked down the hallway with his head low, ready to slip out unseen.
But the second he passed the glass wall that overlooked the teaching pool, he couldn’t help but to look, like magnetism, he was attracted to see .
His head turned left as the sound of a familiar laugh made his way to his ears, like an old memory box being opened in his mind, Johnny froze.
“Now, we’re gonna try by ourselves, ok?” His voice. Sharp but warm, bright and unmistakable.
Mark Lee.
Just like that. Not a memory. Not a dream. Real.
His back was to the window, hair tied, sleeves rolled. Happy.
God , he looked happy.
And then a small boy came flying off the edge of the pool, curls bouncing, arms spread like wings, shrieking in delight as he crashed into Mark’s waiting arms.
And Mark caught him, laughing, pulling him close, water splashing everywhere.
Johnny didn’t breathe.
It wasn’t just the curve of the boy’s mouth, or the way his eyes crinkled when he grinned. It was the way he moved, bold and sure, all legs and joy. The way he clung to Mark’s neck like he’d always known how. Like he belonged there.
But mostly… It was the face.
Those were his eyes.
His nose. His chin. A dimple in the exact same spot.
It felt like the floor shifted under Johnny’s feet. Like someone had emptied his lungs without warning.
He reached for the wall without thinking, steadying himself, staring through the glass as if looking could turn the clock back five years.
He took three steps back. Then turned around and ran, Johnny couldn’t breath, his chest hurting as he tried to press one hand on top.
The silence hit him harder than the heat outside. He leaned against his car, pressing one hand over his heart like he could hold it together by force alone. He squeezed his eyes shut, but every time he blinked, he saw them again: Mark’s arms around that boy. The boy’s face, his face.
Johnny didn’t sleep. Not really. He tossed. He turned. He stared at the ceiling of his quiet, furnished rental with the air conditioning humming too loud and the sheets too stiff. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw him, saw them .
Mark.
And the kid.
He didn’t have to ask. Didn’t need a test, didn’t need a confirmation. He knew. It was in the way the boy’s curls stuck wet to his forehead, the same way Johnny’s did when he was that age. The shape of his mouth, the sharp tip of his nose. His laugh.
God, his laugh.
Johnny had heard that sound before. In hotel rooms. In beds they’d barely made it to. In the middle of airports, hidden behind sunglasses and hats.
He woke early the next day. Too early. The sun barely up over the horizon when he was already pulling on a hoodie and heading back to the rec center. This time, he didn’t swim. He just stood near the edge of the lobby, by the vending machines, heart pounding like he was about to compete again.
He thought he’d be early enough.
Johnny sat in the lobby, heartbeat in his throat, pretending to scroll through his phone while the vending machines buzzed beside him. The old woman at the front desk gave him a polite smile as he passed her twice, pacing just to calm the storm inside his chest.
Eventually, she tilted her glasses up and asked, “You waiting for someone?”
He hesitated. Then nodded once, “Mark… Mark Lee?”
She smiled again, gentler this time. “Swim class for the kids starts at nine. Coach Lee should be here any minute.”
Coach Lee.
It hit him like a punch to the ribs.
He muttered a thank you and stepped back, finding a spot near the hallway just out of view, heart climbing up his throat again.
And then, he heard it.
That laugh.
Faint at first, like it had traveled through time just to find him. And when he turned, the door opened.
There was Mark.
Wearing an oversized crewneck and dark jeans, sunglasses pushed low on his nose. A tote bag slung over one shoulder, and beside him, a little boy skipping to match his steps.
“…and she gave me a star, right here!” the boy chirped, tapping the sticker on his forehead with pride. “She said it was cool I brought your medal!”
Mark huffed a laugh, hand coming down gently to smooth over the boy’s hair. “It’s your medal too, you know,” he said, fondness curling soft and warm around every word. “You’ve earned it, just for waking up this early.”
The boy grinned, triumphant, and Mark grinned back. And for a moment, it was like the rest of the world didn’t exist. Just the two of them, perfectly in rhythm, like they’d always been a pair.
That’s when Mark looked up.
Their eyes met.
And it was like time broke.
Johnny forgot how to breathe.
Mark’s expression didn’t change at first, like his brain hadn’t caught up to what he was seeing. But then his lips parted, just barely. The color drained from his face. His sunglasses slid further down his nose, revealing the full weight of his disbelief.
The little boy tugged his sleeve again. “ Appa ? Who’s that?”
Mark’s hand came down automatically on his son’s shoulder, steadying him.
And Johnny, God, he could’ve said anything. Could’ve taken a step forward. Could’ve called his name.
But his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.
And Mark… Mark’s throat worked around something invisible. Words. Emotions. The years. His jaw clenched, and when he finally spoke, it wasn’t gentle.
“Why are you here?”
Not hello .
Not you found us .
Just defensive. Instant. Like old reflexes had kicked in.
Johnny flinched before he could stop himself. “Mark,” he breathed.
One word. Five years. A history folded into a single syllable.
And still, Mark’s arm never left the boy’s shoulders. His fingers curled there, protective and tight.
“I asked you a question,” Mark said. “Why are you here?”
Johnny’s lips parted but he hesitated, not because he didn’t have an answer but because he did. Too many.
Because every one of them ended with you .
He took a step forward but stopped when the boy moved.
Subtle. Instinctive.
Jaehee leaned a little in front of Mark, like he could shield him. Just a shift of his small body, but it made something in Johnny’s chest twist painfully. A reflex. A learned thing. Like he’d seen that expression on Mark’s face before, closed off and sharp and decided, all on his own, that he should be the barrier.
Johnny swallowed the lump in his throat and crouched a little, just enough to meet the kid’s eyes.
“Hi,” he said gently, voice softer than it had been in years. “What’s your name?”
The boy blinked. Hesitated. Then glanced back at Mark, who stayed silent but gave the faintest nod.
“Jaehee,” the boy said, still eyeing him with something between curiosity and caution.
Johnny smiled, though it trembled at the edges. “Hi Jaehee. I’m your dad’s… old friend.”
He didn’t look at Mark when he said it. Couldn’t.
But he heard the breath Mark sucked in, sharp, shaky, quiet like he didn’t want anyone to hear it.
Johnny felt it more than heard it.
The disbelief. The why now.
He stood slowly, gaze shifting at last to the boy’s father.
Mark was staring at him like he didn’t know whether to run or scream. The kind of stare you gave a ghost. Like Johnny had clawed his way out of some other life and landed here, impossibly, right where Mark had spent years making sure he couldn’t be found.
Johnny took a breath.
“I didn’t know,” he said, his voice low. “Not until yesterday.”
Mark flinched.
“And you’re just here?” Mark spat, quiet but sharp. “Just like that?”
Johnny looked at him then. Really looked.
His hair was longer, dyed dark again. His cheekbones sharper. The weight on him wasn’t the same kind he carried in competitions. It was quieter. Heavier. A little worn.
But he was still Mark.
Still the boy who paced when he was overwhelmed. Still the one who said too much too fast and clung to the people he loved like they were his only anchors.
“I didn’t come here for this,” Johnny admitted. “I didn’t even know you were here. I didn’t know you had…”
He looked down at Jaehee again, who was now gripping Mark’s hand tighter, but no longer hiding.
“I just moved here,” Johnny said. “Just wanted quiet. Slower. Thought I’d swim to keep sane. I didn’t know I’d find you.”
Mark blinked, long and slow like he was trying to reset time.
“Yeah,” he said finally, voice low and raw. “Well. Now you did.”
“Can we talk?” Johnny asked, voice barely above the rustle of early chatter in the lobby.
Mark didn’t look up right away. His hand was still curled around Jaehee’s shoulder, thumb tracing slow circles near the strap of the boy’s bag. But Johnny saw the flicker in his lashes, the pause in his breath. He looked tired. Not just the kind of tired sleep could fix, but the kind that came from carrying too much for too long.
“I have too many questions and I—” Johnny stopped himself, forced a slow exhale. Met Mark’s eyes with a softer gaze than he’d ever worn in a game. “I promise you I’m not mad but I need you to be honest with me.”
Mark blinked once, he looked like he was going to speak but instead, he swallowed.
“Can it wait?” he said, quiet, a little shaky. “I’m not ready. And I actually have to hurry for my class, but I…” he paused, like the words were dragging themselves out of him. “I’ll talk. After this.”
It could’ve been an excuse.
Maybe it was.
But Johnny had known him. Knew him.
And Mark Lee wasn’t the type to run from something unless he was scared out of his skin. This wasn’t denial. It was survival.
Johnny nodded, slow. Gentle.
“Yeah,” he said. “I can wait.”
And he meant it.
Because he would always make space for Mark. For his chaos, his walls, his rhythms. Always.
So he walked into the pools, past the rows of lockers and damp towels, and climbed the bleachers above the small teaching pool, settling onto the cool metal bench.
Below, Mark moved through the motions.
The pool filled with sound, splashing, squeals, scattered instructions, but Johnny only heard one laugh. A laugh that had once echoed in the back of his head for years but instead of being Mark, it was Jaehee, who had stolen his laugh. Running up to the shallow end, flapping his arms with dramatic flair as Mark pointed toward a kickboard.
Mark, who was still pale, even under the tall ceiling lights. Still distracted, the edge of his movements dulled by Johnny’s gaze.
But every now and then, Jaehee tugged his hand or asked something too fast, and Mark turned to him, steady, soft, focused. Like he remembered how to be there again, like Jaehee brought him back to earth.
And it was shocking.
It was beautiful.
It was gut-wrenching.
Johnny had so many things to say.
So many things he didn’t know how to ask without sounding like someone who had been kept away from the one thing he might’ve loved more than the sport.
By the time the class ended, the other kids were filing out with their towels and wet sneakers, their parents trailing behind. Jaehee was still sitting at the edge of the pool, feet dangling in the water, babbling something as Mark gently towel-dried his curls.
Johnny stood from the bleachers as the last of the families exited.
They were finally alone and the silence between them stretched tight again, no longer strangers, but still something far from safe.
Mark knelt beside Jaehee, rubbing at his hair with the towel again, slower this time.
“Hey, baby,” he said, soft enough that it didn’t carry far. “Can you go wait with Auntie Laura? Just for a little? I need to talk to Johnny.”
Jaehee looked at Johnny, then back at his dad.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Mark smiled, small and forced. “Yeah. Just grown-up stuff.”
The boy nodded solemnly, slipping his hand into the towel and grabbing his bag. “Okay. But if he makes you sad, I’ll bite him.”
Johnny let out a breath of laughter that cracked at the edges.
Mark blinked hard. “You’re not biting anyone, you little menace. Go on, now.”
Jaehee trotted off, wet curls bouncing, and when the door to the hallway clicked shut behind him, it was like something snapped.
Mark didn’t look at Johnny right away. His hand lingered on the towel, clenched tight. “You weren’t supposed to see us,” he said, and it wasn’t defensive, not yet. Just… raw, tired.
Johnny exhaled like the air had been punched from him. “You disappeared,” Johnny said, stepping forward. “No call. No text. Nothing. You just…left.”
“I had to.”
“No, you didn’t,” Johnny said, voice rising. “You chose to. You chose to leave me in the dark for five years! You chose to disappear, Mark. And now I find you here, here, of all places, holding a kid who looks exactly like me and what? I’m just supposed to walk away again?”
Mark flinched. His arms folded across his chest, tight like he was trying to hold himself together.
“You don’t know what it was like—”
“Then tell me!” Johnny shouted. “Tell me what it was like! Because I stayed. I stayed behind, I kept calling you, kept looking for you everywhere, I waited and I hoped for you to show up, to say anything. And every fucking time the door didn’t open, that the calls went unanswered, I still forgave you in advance, because I thought maybe you were scared. I thought maybe you were hurt. I thought, fuck— I loved you enough to do it.”
Mark’s lips trembled. His eyes burned red, but he didn’t blink.
“You think I didn’t want to call?” Mark spat, voice shaky with everything he hadn’t said in five years. “You think it didn’t kill me every day not to?”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I was pregnant!” Mark finally broke, and the words slammed into the air between them, sharp and irreversible. “I was pregnant and terrified and alone and you , you had a future, Johnny. You had a team. A legacy. The whole world waiting at your feet and I couldn’t be the thing that ruined that for you.”
Johnny stared. The whole room tilted for a second.
“You think I would’ve thought that?” he said, barely above a whisper. “You think I wouldn’t have stayed? That I wouldn’t have given up everything?”
Mark’s face crumpled. “I didn’t want you to have to make that choice.”
“And so you made it for me?”
Mark finally looked away. Shoulders hunched, shaking.
“I didn’t know how to do it,” he said. “I didn’t know how to tell you. By the time I wanted to, it felt too late.”
Johnny’s voice broke. “And you didn’t think I’d still want to be a part of his life? You didn’t think he deserved to know who I was?”
“I was scared!” Mark cried. “Okay? I was scared of what it would mean. Scared you’d hate me. Scared he’d get attached and you’d leave. I didn’t want him to grow up watching someone fall in and out of his life.”
Johnny stepped closer, fists trembling at his sides. “But I didn’t even get the chance, Mark. You took that from me. You took him from me.”
Mark’s mouth opened, then closed. His eyes filled to the brim.
He covered his face with both hands, shoulders shaking as a sob slipped out, quiet and desperate. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know how to do this right. I still don’t.”
Johnny’s hands twitched, and then, gently, he stepped forward, just close enough to reach out. Not to touch him, not yet. Just to be near. “I don’t hate you,” he said. “I never could. But you have to let me be here now. You have to let me know him. Please.”
Mark lowered his hands, tear-streaked and breathless.
“You really want to?” he whispered.
“I already do,” Johnny said. “I think I always did.”
-
Three years ago…
Mark hadn’t realized he was swaying.
It was an old habit, leftover from the early months when Jaehee had colic and the only thing that soothed him was being held close and rocked gently back and forth. Now, at two years old, he was heavier, solid, one arm around Mark’s neck and the other clutching a worn-out stuffie shaped like a seal.
He was asleep. Fully knocked out from the sun and snacks and the little splash pad down the street. His curls were damp against Mark’s cheek. His thumb, half tucked in his mouth. Mark’s shoulder was damp from his drool, but he didn’t mind.
Chenle sat across the room, watching him quietly. He hadn’t said much since arriving, just brought takeout and that energy that always clung to him, calmer now, older. Still kind.
Mark didn’t look at him, just kept swaying.
It was Chenle who broke the silence.
“Do you think you’ll ever tell him?”
Mark stopped. Stopped moving. Stopped breathing, maybe.
“Johnny,” Chenle added, softer now.
Mark didn’t answer.
Not yet.
He sat down slowly on the edge of the couch, careful not to jostle Jaehee, who stirred but didn’t wake. He looked small in his arms. So small.
“I used to rehearse it,” Mark whispered. “What I’d say. How I’d start. I used to think about calling him on his birthday. Or sending a picture. Just… something.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Mark looked down at his son.
“I think I wanted to punish him,” he said, and it tasted bitter in his mouth the second it came out. “For having the life I couldn’t anymore. For going on. For letting me leave.”
Chenle’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t interrupt.
“And I hated myself for it,” Mark continued, voice raw now, like he was peeling himself open. “Because it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t ask for this. He didn’t even know. But every time I wanted to reach out, I pictured him smiling somewhere, maybe with someone else. Winning something. Moving on. And it killed me.”
Jaehee stirred again. Mark ran his fingers through his hair, soothing him, but his own tears were already slipping free.
“I still love him,” he said quietly. “I never stopped. And I hate that, too. Because I think he would’ve stayed. And that makes it worse.”
Chenle didn’t move. He just sat with him in the quiet, surrounded by the soft hum of the fridge and the distant noise of kids playing outside.
“You know,” Chenle finally said, “you don’t have to punish yourself forever.”
Mark laughed, dry and broken. “That’s the problem. I don’t know how to stop.”
-
Once they got home, Mark followed their usual routine, trying to sneak one smile or two, something to keep Jaehee calm. His kid was a receptive little boy, he knew when dad was sad, when he wandered for too long, stayed quiet for too long.
Once he made sure his son was asleep, he stepped out into the hallway and leaned his head against the doorframe.
The apartment was quiet, but the silence felt like a weight pressing his shoulders. He walked into the kitchen, poured himself a glass of water, and set his phone on the counter without checking it.
For five years, he’d stayed hidden in the quiet. Had taught himself to survive on bedtime stories, scraped knees, first words, and the rhythm of a heart that wasn’t only his anymore.
But today, the past came walking in.
He stared at the phone for a long time before unlocking it. And just like earlier at the pool, Johnny’s name, or what was now just Unknown Number, was waiting.
Hey.
It’s Johnny. I asked for your number before I left.
I hope that’s okay.
I was just wondering when I could see Jaehee again.
Maybe… maybe we could talk a little more too.
Just us.
Mark stared at it.
His thumb hovered over the screen.
He didn’t know what to say but something inside him ached. Not just from seeing Johnny, not just from the flood of old wounds. But from the fact that even now, after five years, after everything, Johnny still asked gently. Still gave him room.
Mark pressed the phone to his chest and closed his eyes.
Then, quietly, he opened his contacts, tapped on Chenle, and hit call.
It rings twice before Chenle picks up.
“So you finally remember I existed.”
Mark lets out a weak sound, half laugh, half exhale. He leans against the kitchen counter, head down. “hey Lele.”
“What’s wrong?”
Years being friends does this, knowing something is off by just hearing his voice, Mark pauses, silence so sharp it hums. “I saw him.”
“…Johnny?”
Mark nods before realizing Chenle can’t see him. “Yeah.”
“Holy shit.”
Mark rubs his forehead. “He was just… there. At the pool. I don’t even know how. It’s not like this place is on the map.”
“Well, he is Johnny Suh. He could’ve found you on the moon.” He says. Then asks softly. “What happened?”
Mark leans back, lets the truth roll out of his chest like thunder he’s kept trapped for years.
“He saw us,” Mark says. “Me and Jaehee. And I…God, Chenle, I couldn’t breathe. I think a part of me always thought it wouldn’t happen. That I could keep this… separate. That maybe I could be a good dad without dragging the past into it.”
“And what did he say?” Chenle asks gently.
“He asked to talk,” Mark says, quieter now. “Said he wasn’t mad. Said he just needed me to be honest.”
“Wow.”
“And I couldn’t,” Mark admits. “Not right away. I asked him to wait until after class, and he did. He sat there the whole time. And when I finally told Jaehee to wait with Laura, I looked at Johnny again…and I broke. I said—.” His throat tightens. “I told him he wasn’t supposed to see us . ’”
There’s a breath from Chenle. A careful one.
“You really thought he never would?”
Mark’s voice is barely there. “No. I think I just hoped it wouldn’t hurt this much when he did.”
Another pause. Mark swallows, blinking fast.
“He looked at Jaehee like he already knew,” he says. “He didn’t ask. Didn’t doubt. He just… knew. And now he’s texting me, asking when he can see him again. I don’t even know what to say. I don’t know if I’m ready.”
“But you want to?” Chenle asks.
Mark’s gaze drifts to the fridge, to Jaehee’s drawings stuck with colorful magnets. A stick figure labeled me + daddy + owl, all smiling in crayon.
“I never wanted to do this alone, Chenle,” Mark says softly. “I loved him. God, I loved him so much. It tore me apart.”
“And you still do,” Chenle says, gentler than before.
Mark doesn’t answer.
He doesn’t have to.
“Whatever you do next,” Chenle continues, “just don’t lie to yourself. Or him. You both deserve better than that now.”
Mark nods slowly, his eyes glassy.
“And,” Chenle adds, lightening the mood, “tell your son I want to FaceTime soon. I miss that monster.”
Mark laughs through his tears. “Yeah. He misses you too.”
“Good. Now go reply to the damn message.”
Mark glances at the phone again.
The screen still glows with Johnny’s awaiting messages.
So he wipes his face. And for the first time all day, Mark lets himself type.
-
Mark Lee
Tomorrow we’ll be at the park behind the rec center around 3, if you’re still okay to meet.
Bring water, he doesn’t stop running.
Johnny breathes in, then exhales.
God. It’s really happening.
He’s been floating since he left the rec center, training this morning like muscle memory, nothing else in his head but him. Mark. His Mark. And Jaehee . Their son.
The past bleeds into everything. Mark at twenty-four, curled into Johnny’s side in hotel beds, laughter caught in his throat like stars. Mark swimming like he was born in water, like he belonged nowhere else, that gaze he used to give him right after a game, determination in his young face. Everything comes back as Johnny closes his eyes.
Everything comes back as Johnny lies in bed that night, staring at the ceiling. No music. No calls. Just silence and memory, pulsing behind his ribs.
He doesn’t sleep. Not really.
His heart beats against his palm like a secret he’s not sure he deserves to keep.
He doesn’t say a word to anyone, not to his mom, not to Jaehyun, who’d been there for the long nights and the worse mornings, who saw firsthand what Mark’s absence carved out of him. Johnny wants to protect this. Hold it close. Keep them hidden like treasure, Mark’s voice, Jaehee’s face, the message glowing on his phone like it meant something more than hope.
And then the day arrives.
The sun is high, the air thick with July. His hands are sweating by the time he nears the park, but he doesn’t stop walking.
The park came into view slowly, trees lining the path like sentries. He spotted them before he was close, Mark sitting on a bench, hair catching gold from the sun, sunglasses pushed up into his long waves. Beside him, a small boy darted through the grass, chasing a deflated soccer ball with determined glee.
Johnny stopped for a breath. Just one. He let it settle before walking again.
Mark looked up first. Their eyes met like it was muscle memory. Something ancient and aching passed between them.
“Hey,” Johnny said.
Mark’s mouth parted, then closed. “Hey.”
They stood in the silence of five years for a moment until Jaehee’s voice split through it like sunlight. “Daddy, look!”
Johnny startled. The word hit harder than he expected. But Mark waved with a soft smile.
“Go on, baby,” he called back, his voice warm in a way Johnny had never heard before. “Don’t go too far away, remember?”
“Yes!” Jaehee ran off again, joy bursting in every step.
Mark gestured to the space beside him. Johnny sat down slowly, watching the boy until the nervous energy in his chest settled.
“I told him you were someone I used to swim with,” Mark said quietly. “That we were old friends.”
Johnny’s gaze moved from Jaehee to him.
“I just… I need time before I tell him more. I want to do it right. I want him to feel it, not just hear it. Does that make sense?”
Johnny nodded slowly. “Yeah. It does.” Then he smiled, soft but true. “You’re a good dad.”
Mark blinked, like he didn’t know how to absorb that. He looked away, jaw clenched tight. “I didn’t mean to hide him from you. I didn’t even know I was pregnant at first. And then everything was already falling apart. You were… everywhere, winning, living and I couldn’t pull you into the mess I was in.”
“You should have,” Johnny said, voice low but steady. “You always could have.”
Mark’s breath caught. He laughed, wet and sharp, wiping at his eye with the edge of his sleeve. “You don’t get to be the understanding one. That’s supposed to be me.”
Johnny smiled again, a little helpless. “Tough luck. I always broke your rules anyway.”
They sat in silence, just for a while, watching Jaehee. He was laughing, climbing the slide backwards, the picture of joy.
“I missed you,” Johnny said eventually. “Every day.”
Mark didn’t look at him at first. He kept his eyes on the grass. “You think I didn’t?” he whispered. “I loved you so much I couldn’t breathe. I thought I’d die with it.”
Johnny swallowed hard. “Then let’s stop dying from it.”
Mark finally turned. His eyes were glassy, wide, like someone had just handed him a second chance and he didn’t know how to hold it.
“So…” Johnny said, trying for lightness. “Can I see you again?”
Mark looked at him for a long time. Then, he smiled. “You already are.”
It hangs there between them, weightless and heavy all at once. Mark glances away after he says it, like he’s afraid of what it might mean out loud. Like hope is something too sharp to hold just yet.
Johnny doesn’t push. He only shifts closer, leaning back on his hands, eyes following the wild arc of Jaehee sprinting across the grass.
“He’s fast,” Johnny says, voice light, hoping to keep them grounded.
Mark hums, a low sound in his throat. “Yeah. Never stops moving. He’s the tallest in his class too, outgrew his sneakers twice this year already.”
There’s a pause, like Mark’s debating how much to say. He keeps his sunglasses pushed up in his hair, face open but wary. Still, he goes on.
“He… loves swimming. I didn’t push it. He found his way to it on his own.” Mark swallows, then gives a small shrug. “But lately it’s soccer. He watched the World Cup once and decided that was it.”
Johnny smiles, trying not to let how much this means show all at once. “He’s got big dreams.”
Mark laughs softly, like it catches him off guard. “Yeah. He’s loud about everything he wants. Brave, I guess.”
He says it like it hurts. Like he wishes he’d been braver too.
Johnny glances over. “What else?”
Mark hesitates. Then, slowly: “He hums when he draws. Talks to his reflection when he thinks I’m not listening. He’ll eat mango for every meal if I let him. And he always wakes up before I do. Always.”
There’s silence after that. Mark presses his fingers against the bench, grounding himself. Johnny watches his profile, the way his throat moves when he swallows.
“You don’t have to tell me everything,” Johnny says gently. “I know it’s… a lot.”
Mark huffs a tired breath. “I know you didn’t ask for this. For me. For any of it.”
“I didn’t ask,” Johnny agrees. “But I’m here.”
That earns him a glance. And then a nod, small but real.
Mark’s voice is quiet. “It’s hard, letting you in like this. I didn’t expect to. It was supposed to be one conversation. That’s it.”
Johnny looks back at Jaehee. “Do you want it to be just one?”
Mark is silent for a beat too long. Then he says, honest and hoarse, “No.”
And God, Johnny hears everything in that. Every wall Mark has been holding up. Every reason he left, every fear that stayed with him after.
They sit like that, silence folding between them gently now, not a wall, but a space being rebuilt.
“What about you?” Johnny asks. “Work? Life?”
Mark straightens a little, grateful for the shift. “I work mornings at the gym. Afternoons at the rec center. Teach swim. Coach sometimes. It keeps things steady. It’s not glamorous, but it’s… stable.”
Johnny nods, sincerely. “Sounds like something you built for him. That’s worth more than glamorous.”
Mark looks at him like that’s something he never thought someone would say. His voice softens. “I try. I didn’t always know how.”
“You’re doing great now,” Johnny says. “I see it.”
That almost breaks Mark. His jaw tightens like he’s holding something back, and he blinks toward the sky.
“Thanks,” he says finally. Like it costs him, but he means it.
Jaehee calls then, breathless with joy: “Daddy! I scored again!”
Mark raises a hand. “I saw, baby! You’re amazing!”
Johnny watches him and the way his voice changes, the way his whole body responds to his son. It hits him all at once: Mark didn’t just become a dad. He is one. Through and through.
“You’re really good at this,” Johnny says, quiet now. Reverent.
Mark doesn’t respond right away. But when he finally turns, there’s something looser in his shoulders. Something open. “I’m still learning.”
Johnny looks at him and smiles. “Then let’s learn together.”
Mark doesn’t answer but he doesn’t turn away either.
And for now, that’s enough.
Just then, Jaehee’s voice rings out again, bright and demanding: “Johnny! Come here! You gotta try the slide!”
Johnny blinks, startled. “Me?”
“Yeah! It’s super fast!”
Mark huffs a laugh under his breath. “You’re in now,” he murmurs, eyes on Jaehee. “No backing out.”
Johnny raises a brow at him playfully. “You’re just gonna sit there while your kid drags me into potential public humiliation?”
Mark smirks, something warm flickering behind his eyes. “That’s the plan.”
Johnny chuckles and rises to his feet. “Alright,” he says. “Show me how it’s done.”
Jaehee’s face lights up. He darts back toward the playground, shouting instructions like a tiny coach. “Climb from the side, not the ladder! That one’s slow! And you gotta push off really hard!”
Johnny does exactly as told, dramatically careful as he scales the slide’s side like he’s preparing for Olympic glory. Jaehee claps excitedly. “Go, go, go!”
He pushes off, the metal hot under his hands and laughs the whole way down.
At the bottom, Jaehee crashes into him, arms flung around his neck. “See! Told you it was fast!”
Johnny breathes out, a real laugh caught in his chest. “You weren’t kidding.”
Mark watches from the bench, expression soft, something unreadable in his gaze. Johnny meets it from across the park. There’s wonder in it. And maybe, just maybe, the beginning of something neither of them thought they’d find again.
-
When Johnny decided to leave the city for good, he wasn’t expecting to find the person he had loved the most, who had vanished from the earth like smoke five years ago.
But now, as he knocks on the door of the apartment he knows by heart now, third floor, second door on the left, the welcome mat always a little crooked, he hears the sound of hurried footsteps, a familiar laugh echoing behind them.
And before Mark can even reach the door, it swings open with a bang.
“Johnny!!” Jaehee launches into him like a rocket.
Johnny smiled, stunned and overwhelmed in equal measure. “Hey, bud,” he said softly, crouching down to hug him back. “Missed me already?”
Jaehee nodded seriously, like this was obvious. “I drew you a dinosaur. It’s green.”
Mark finally appeared behind him, a breathless look on his face. “Sorry, I told him to wait for me, but… yeah.”
Johnny stood, heart still thudding. “It’s fine. He’s… incredible.”
Mark didn’t answer at first, but he stepped aside to let him in. “He’s a lot,” he said instead. “But I guess he gets that from me.”
The apartment was warm. A few stray crayons under the coffee table, a blanket messily folded on the couch. Johnny followed them in, still clutching Jaehee’s hand like it grounded him.
Mark made them tea while Jaehee disappeared to fetch the dinosaur drawing.
“I still forget to buy the good brand,” Mark mumbled, setting the mugs down. “Hope this isn’t terrible.”
Johnny smiled. “It’s perfect.”
They sat on the floor. Jaehee played between them, humming to himself.
Mark watched him for a moment, fingers curling around his mug before talking, it had become a thing, Johnny wanted to know a lot about Jaehee, so he would spend hours talking about his childhood.
“He was colicky the first three months,” he said suddenly. “Didn’t sleep more than two hours. I walked the halls of the apartment like a ghost. I think I aged ten years that summer.”
Johnny turned toward him, surprise softening into something gentler. “You’re telling me about his baby days now?”
“I don’t know,” Mark muttered. “I think so, even if it’s hard. Letting you in like this. It still feels like I’m doing something wrong.”
Johnny nodded slowly. “But you’re doing it anyway.”
Mark looked up, eyes tired but open. “Yeah.”
There was a pause. The hum of the heater filled the space.
“He’s pretty good at literature” Mark offered after a beat. “He also asked me if he can start taking soccer lessons after school instead of swimming. Sorry about that.”
Johnny laughed. “I think I’ll live.”
Mark looked down, as if bracing himself. “Chenle… he took some photos back then. Of me. When I was pregnant. He said I’d want them someday. I hated him for it at the time.”
Johnny blinked. “You have them?”
“Yeah.” Mark stood and disappeared into the bedroom, returning with a small envelope after a few minutes. He hesitated, then handed it over.
Johnny opened it carefully. Inside were a few photos, Mark with soft cheeks and swollen belly, one hand resting low, gaze turned away from the camera. A blanket wrapped around his shoulders. The kind of vulnerability Johnny never thought he’d be allowed to see.
“I tried to contact Chenle,” Johnny said after a while, still looking at the photos. “When you left. I figured he’d know something. But he was gone too.”
Mark exhaled sharply. “Yeah. He moved with me. Said if I was going to disappear, someone should be there to catch me when I fell.”
There was a silence, heavier now. And Johnny has to ask. “How was it? When he was born…”
“Giving birth was…” Mark stopped. His throat bobbed. “It was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever done. I was alone. I kept thinking, I can’t do this. I’m not strong enough. That was the only time I almost called you. I had my phone in my hand, your number dialed. I just… I couldn’t press it. I didn’t want you to hear me like that.”
-
A few years ago…
It was raining the night Jaehee was born.
Not the soft kind of rain either, no, it came down like a curtain, like the sky was being wrung out by something furious and relentless. Mark remembered it even now, all these years later. The sound of it hammering against the hospital windows. The sterile white of the walls. The way the nurse kept telling him to breathe like she could somehow drag the pain from his body with just her voice.
He was alone.
He hadn’t planned it that way, not really. He just didn’t know how to plan anything anymore. Everything had unraveled so fast, his career, his body, his sense of direction. And now he was here. A hospital room in a city that didn’t know his name. A baby fighting his way into the world. And no one waiting in the hallway.
No one except him.
Mark clutched the edge of the bed as another contraction ripped through him, tears slipping down his cheeks unchecked, mouth open in a silent cry. The nurse squeezed his hand, she kept saying things to him, encouraging, grounding words, but they all blurred together, drowned in the sharp, jagged edges of pain and the rising tide of something else, fear .
He was terrified.
And in the middle of it, as the monitor beeped steadily beside him and the storm howled outside, he reached for his phone.
With shaking hands, he unlocked it. Opened the contacts.
His thumb hovered over a name he hadn’t said out loud in months.
“Johnny.”
Just that. No last name. No emoji. No unnecessary words. Because there had never needed to be. Johnny had always just been his.
His person.
His home.
Mark’s eyes blurred again, but not from pain this time. He whispered, “Please,” not even sure who he was saying it to. Himself, maybe. God. The baby inside him. The man he still loved more than anyone.
His thumb moved. Tapped once.
Then stopped.
Because what would he even say?
“I’m sorry”? “I love you”? “I’m in labor and I don’t want to do this alone”?
He backspaced the number. Locked the screen.
And then the next contraction came.
He didn’t remember screaming, but he must’ve. Didn’t remember crying, but his face was wet. The world went tight and bright and unbearable and then… just like that, he heard it.
A cry.
Tiny. Loud .
The nurse laughed. Someone said, “You did it.” And Mark collapsed against the pillows, chest heaving, tears falling freely now, even as they laid the baby, his baby, against his chest.
He looked down.
There he was.
Small. Pink. Wrinkled. Alive.
And so perfect.
Mark broke.
Right there, in front of everyone, he held his son like he’d been waiting for him in a way his body had known even before his mind caught up.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered to the boy. “You deserved two people here.”
And later that night, when the room was dark and Jaehee slept against his chest, Mark picked up his phone one more time.
He opened Johnny’s name.
Typed one word.
“Hey.”
Then he stared.
And stared.
And stared.
But he never pressed send.
Instead, he deleted it, turned the screen off and kissed the top of his son’s head, whispering a promise he wasn’t even sure how to keep.
“I’ll try. I’ll try my best, even if it’s just me.”
-
When Mark finishes talking, Johnny stays quiet.
“I knew something was wrong,” he said eventually. “The night before I got home, I already felt it. Your texts had changed. You weren’t calling. I kept thinking, once I saw you, we could figure it out.”
Mark looked at him then, eyes rimmed in red.
“But I walked in and the place was empty,” Johnny continued. “No note. Nothing. Just your key on the counter and a silence that didn’t end for months.”
His voice shook. “I couldn’t breathe. For weeks, I was just… gone. I’d drink to fall asleep and cry until I couldn’t. My training tanked. Coach threatened to drop me. Said I was wasting my spot on the team.”
Mark’s face crumpled. “Johnny…”
“I kept waiting for you to call. And then I started praying you wouldn’t, because I didn’t know what I’d say if you did.”
Mark lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry. I should’ve called. I should’ve let you hate me to my face instead of wondering where I went.”
“I never hated you,” Johnny said quietly. “I was just broken.”
Another silence fell, but this time it felt less like a wall and more like a door. Waiting to open.
Jaehee’s voice rang out suddenly, pulling their eyes toward the living room.
“Johnny! Come see my draw, please!”
Johnny stood, setting the envelope aside.
“You coming?” he asked Mark.
Mark hesitated. “Not yet.”
Johnny walked over to Jaehee, letting him pull him toward the table Mark had thrifted a few years ago, old wood stained with tiny draws Jaehee made over the years.
Laughter echoed in the room, bright and free.
And behind them, Mark watched with his heart in his throat, his arms folded tight, and his eyes softening against the flood.
-
It becomes a routine, almost.
Johnny trails them to the rec center most days now. He trains in the deep pool, carving quiet laps through still water, the rhythm of it steadying something inside him. Mark, just a few lanes over, with his whistle cutting through kid chaos, wrangles swim lessons in the shallows with an ease Johnny never knew he had.
More than once, Johnny catches Jaehee sneaking from the pool deck to the hallway door, trying to peek in. His little fingers press to the glass like he’s watching a movie.
Johnny always waves him in.
Soon, it becomes their thing, Jaehee padding barefoot down the slick tiles to sit near the edge while Johnny practices turns and strokes. His eyes go wide as Johnny slices through the water like it answers only to him. When Johnny pulls himself up onto the ledge, dripping and breathless, Jaehee claps.
“Again!”
Sometimes Johnny tells him about his games. The championships. The Olympic trials. The gold medal from Tokyo that his mom still keeps. He watches Jaehee’s face light up, wide-eyed and unfiltered, the kind of awe that makes everything worth remembering.
Laura, the receptionist, notices.
She gives Johnny that look. The one that says she’s already put the pieces together. She calls Jaehee “your kid” more than once.
Johnny never corrects her.
One afternoon, Johnny’s phone rings as he’s drying off in the locker room. His coach’s name on the screen.
“You keeping up with your conditioning?” his voice comes through rough, direct. “You’ve got a rep to defend.”
Johnny leans against a locker, towel over his shoulder. “Yeah. I’m training. Every day.”
“I’m sending someone next week for a fitness check. Don’t slack.”
There’s a pause. “And about the formation sessions, we’ll need you back in the city at least part-time. Think about moving out here, even just temporarily.”
Johnny hesitates. Then, firmly, “I’m not moving back.”
“You’re gonna fly back and forth all season?”
“If I have to,” Johnny says. “I need to come home.”
He doesn’t explain further.
Because that’s when Mark appears at the far end of the hallway, drenched from the pool, one towel slung around his shoulders, another wrapped around Jaehee’s head as he ruffles it gently.
Johnny’s heart stutters. It’s the kind of domestic sight that used to only live in dreams.
Mark sees him and smiles, soft and easy. “Want to get dinner with us?”
Johnny doesn’t miss a beat.
“Always.”
-
Dinner goes as smoothly as it can with a kid, with pasta sauce on little cheeks and an energy that feels unlimited. Johnny doesn’t mind, he’s gotten used to it. He likes it. No, he loves it.
It’s the way Mark moves around the table, steady, soft spoken but always attentive. He wipes Jaehee’s mouth without missing a beat in the conversation, answers his questions with exaggerated seriousness, and every now and then, throws Johnny a look across the table that says this is chaos, but it’s ours.
At one point, Jaehee turns fully toward Johnny, kicking his legs under the table as he starts rambling about a school project, something about volcanoes and baking soda and “it might explode but not a lot, I promise.” Johnny listens like it’s the most important thing in the world.
And in a way, it is.
It feels like a family dinner. His chest aches with the weight of it.
Later, in the car, Jaehee keeps talking for a bit, slower now, voice dipping more and more into that dreamy, post-dinner sleepiness.
By the time they pull into the driveway, he’s quiet. His small head lolls to the side, eyes closed, breath even and soft.
“I’ll carry him,” Johnny offers gently, already slipping out of the car.
Mark nods, murmuring a quiet “Okay,” and opens the front door while Johnny carefully lifts Jaehee out of his booster seat. The boy instinctively curls into his shoulder.
Inside, Mark moves ahead to push open the bedroom door, pulling down the covers. Johnny lowers Jaehee onto the bed, watching the way his tiny fingers stay curled, how his hair’s stuck to his forehead.
Mark tucks him in. They both linger.
Then they leave the door cracked just a bit.
In the hallway, Mark turns to him slowly.
“Thanks,” he says, barely above a whisper. “For helping.”
Johnny shakes his head. “You don’t have to thank me for that.”
Silence stretches but it’s not awkward. It’s heavy, full of all the things they haven’t said. The hallway feels too small for it, like time’s pressing in.
“I used to think I’d never see you again,” Mark says suddenly, voice raw. “That I’d made peace with it.”
Johnny doesn’t speak. He waits.
Mark’s eyes dart to his mouth, then to his chest, then back up.
“But now you’re… here. With him. With us. And it’s so…” He stops himself.
“I know,” Johnny says, quietly.
Mark swallows. His eyes flicker shut. “This is terrifying,” he admits.
“I know,” Johnny says again, voice steady, grounding. “But it’s good too, isn’t it?”
Mark doesn’t answer.
Instead, he steps forward, and the air shifts.
The hallway is poorly lighted from the kitchen light spilling in, but everything else fades. It’s just them. The years, the silence, the missed time, folding inward like pages to this moment.
Mark looks at him like he’s not sure this is real. Like he might wake up in the morning and find Johnny gone again. And Johnny, he stays still. He doesn’t move, doesn’t dare. He lets Mark choose.
And then, he does.
Mark leans in, slow enough to make Johnny feel every millisecond of it. His hand lifts, hovers, then curls gently into the fabric of Johnny’s shirt like he needs to hold on to something solid.
Their foreheads brush first. They stay there for a beat, breathing in the same air, breathing in this.
Then Mark tilts his head and kisses him.
And it’s like fireworks exploding.
Not the loud, crashing kind. The quiet, sky blooming kind. The kind that startle you with how beautiful they are. That settle into your chest and explode there.
Mark’s mouth is soft but sure, like he’s spent years memorizing how this used to feel. Johnny kisses him back with the kind of longing that can only come from heartbreak. From waiting. From still loving someone after everything.
The world narrows to that kiss. The quiet gasp of breath between them. The brush of Mark’s fingers against his neck. The press of Johnny’s palm at Mark’s waist, gentle, reverent, like he’s touching something sacred.
And for a moment, it’s like no time passed at all.
They kiss like they’re trying to write over all the pain, like they’re sealing something back together. Like they’re choosing each other again.
When they finally break apart, Mark’s hand is still on Johnny’s chest, right over his heart, and Johnny can feel it beating wildly beneath his skin.
Mark looks up at him with wide eyes, a little dazed. His lips pink, a little parted.
Johnny breathes out a laugh, soft and shaky. “Still terrifying?”
Mark gives the smallest nod. “Yeah,” he whispers. “But I think I’d do it all again.”
-
The center is loud.
Mark adjusts the cap pulled low over his eyes, trying to disappear into the crowd, one row above the pool deck. He doesn’t know why he’s nervous, he’s not the one playing, but his hands haven’t stopped fidgeting since they arrived.
Jaehee, on the other hand, is practically vibrating with excitement beside him, wearing Johnny’s team hoodie like it’s his whole personality.
“Do you think he saw me already?” he asks, standing on his toes to peer over the barrier. “I waved twice!”
Mark laughs, though it sounds too breathless, too tight in his throat. “He’ll see you when it counts.”
He hopes.
Because this isn’t just any game. It’s Johnny’s last one. And they’re here. They’re really here.
Mark doesn’t know what that means yet, being seen again. But he knows what it feels like. It feels like the eyes of the world could be on him and still, the only thing he wants is for Johnny to look up and find him.
The match begins.
It’s brutal from the start. Water churns. Bodies crash and rise, fast and sharp and unrelenting. And there he is, Johnny, number 9, slicing through the chaos like the water is home. Like he was made for this.
He commands the game with such terrifying elegance that it pulls a gasp from someone nearby. But Mark is silent, completely still, barely blinking.
Because he remembers. He remembers watching Johnny all those years ago, younger, brighter, fueled by something relentless and beautiful. But this is different.
Johnny isn’t just fighting to win.
He’s playing for them.
Mark sees it in the way he steals a glance at the stands mid-game, barely a flick of his eyes. He sees it in the precision of every move, the fire that hasn’t dimmed but deepened.
Beside him, Jaehee shouts, small fists raised in the air.
“GO, DADDY GO!”
The people in their row turn. Some smile. Others frown in confusion. But Mark keeps his cap down, just enough to shadow his face, even as his hand instinctively ruffles his son’s hair.
The cheers swell.
The scoreboard ticks closer.
And then, the final goal.
It lands with a roar so loud it shakes the bleachers. The whistle blows. The team erupts. Arms fly, water splashes high, and gold glints under the arena lights.
Johnny stands in the middle of it all, soaked and shining. A medal is slung around his neck. Cameras flash. Teammates surround him.
But his eyes are already moving. Scanning.
Searching.
And then, he finds them.
Mark sees it happen. Sees the split-second shift in Johnny’s entire expression the moment their eyes lock. And suddenly, he’s not nervous anymore. He’s known.
Johnny moves.
He doesn’t wait for interviews. Doesn’t wait for the crowd to settle. Still dripping from the pool, he tears past the barrier, shoving past reporters and officials, his feet hitting the concrete as if something vital’s on the other side.
Jaehee sees him first. “Daddy!”
Mark barely has time to react before Johnny’s arms are around him.
He lifts Jaehee into one arm and pulls Mark in with the other, and then he kisses him.
Right there. In front of the world.
Mark freezes.
For only a second.
Then he kisses him back.
And it’s everything.
It’s the years they lost. The nights Mark held his son and cried quietly into the dark. The mornings Johnny trained alone, pretending the ache in his chest was just the cold. It’s their first kiss a few months ago, finally set on fire. It’s full of teeth and breathless laughter and five years’ worth of broken pieces stitched together in one impossible, perfect moment.
Jaehee giggles, arms wrapped around Johnny’s soaked neck. “This is so cool.”
Johnny pulls back just enough to look at Mark, eyes glinting, hair wet, medal shining at his chest.
“You’re here,” he says, like he still can’t believe it.
Mark nods, eyes a little glassy. “You’re worth showing up for.”
Then he looks to Jaehee and smiles, voice a little shaky. “You both are.”
Johnny kisses his forehead next then Jaehee’s.
The crowd cheers again, maybe for the win, maybe for them.
But Mark doesn’t care.
For the first time in years, he doesn’t feel like a ghost in the world Johnny was building. He feels real. Loved. Visible.
And beside him, Jaehee is shouting, “Daddy you got a gold medal! Can I use it too?”
It’s messy. It’s loud. It’s theirs.
A family, finally.
And the world, for the first time, sees it all.
-
Former Canadian Water Polo Prodigy Mark Lee Seen in Public For the First Time Since His Sudden Departure From the Sport
Mark Lee, once called the rising prince of Canadian water polo, vanished from the competitive circuit without explanation nearly five years ago. At the time, speculation ran rampant, some citing injury, others burnout, and whispers of personal issues..
Now, he has reappeared. And he’s not alone.
In a stunning moment following Johnny Suh’s retirement game, Lee was seen standing poolside with a child and embracing Suh, culminating in a passionate kiss that has already gone viral across social media platforms.
original post: here
- “Mark was my favorite player. I always wondered why he left. Now I know and somehow it makes me love him more.”
- “This is history. Like. Sports history. Love history. Everything.”
- “The fact that Mark chose to raise their son quietly, and Johnny found them again… I’m unwell.”
- “They gave us nothing for years and now they gave us everything.”
- “Olympic medal. Retired champion. Secret child. Reunited lovers. I feel like I’m in a fanfiction.”
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