you may have my heart

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Haechan sat on the beige couch of his Airbnb with Mark in the kitchen while he tried to cook a few eggs for the both of them

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Haechan sat on the beige couch of his Airbnb with Mark in the kitchen while he tried to cook a few eggs for the both of them. Haechan, unlike the other times when he would pester Mark to do a good job, was staring at the TV that had the news on blast. Mark found this weird, the male looking behind his shoulder multiple times before muttering under his breath how different Haechan seemed.

"Bro," Mark called, Haechan's mind somewhere else as tuned his best friend out. "Hyuck?"

"Mhm?" Haechan snapped out of it, looking up to Mark to see him in his apron and a spatula in hand. "Yeah."

"I said I failed with the eggs but Jeno and Jaemin are coming over. Do you think we should buy take-out?" Mark asked and Haechan blinked, nodding silently. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Yeah."

"What did I say?"

"You failed with the eggs."

"What did I say after that?" Mark prodded Haechan, the latter frowning before realizing he did not catch what Mark said after that. "What's happening, Hyuck?"

"Sorry," Haechan mumbled under his breath. "Just... What did you say?"

"I said Jeno and Jaemin are in Korea right now so they are coming over. Do you think we should order take-out instead?"

"Yeah. Sounds good. Sure." Haechan's voice came out as robotic and Mark's shoulders dropped down before he threw his hands up into the air.

"Lee Donghyuck, what is wrong with you? Is there something you're not telling me?" Mark knew something had happened. How could he not? He could see that Haechan was not acting like himself since he came back from where ever he went.

Haechan hesitated. He wanted to tell Mark about you. He never kept secrets from Mark. It wasn't part of their friendship to not tell the other what they were going through. Maybe that was why they got along so well.

"I found my father," Haechan began and Mark dropped the spatula. "Mark..."

"Sorry, sorry," Mark said quickly, picking up the spatula and placing it on the kitchen counter. "And? How is he?"

"Dying," Haechan said, his voice stiff. He wanted to elaborate more. Mentally rotting, he wanted to say. Old age had taken him away and I'm confused as to what I'm supposed to feel. But he didn't say anything else other than the fact that he was dying.

"Dying," Mark repeated after Haechan, the gears in his head-turning. "How about you?"

"What about me?" Haechan asked, frowning at Mark's question. His friend sighed, going to the couch and sighing.

"How are you handling it?" Mark asked. He was worried about Haechan more than Haechan's father. Mark was a kind man but he didn't like what Haechan's father did to him. In the end, Haechan was family and he'd always put Haechan first.

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