guardian angel hyuck human disaster mark lee
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“You were on student council in high school – vice president? Maybe president. You used to be the star of your school’s soccer team, and everyone knew your name. You wake up at 8 a.m. every day, regardless of how late you sleep. You go to the gym about four times a week. You call your mom every Sunday night, and she worries because she knows you have a tendency to overwork yourself. She always bothers you about not having a girlfriend, even though tons of girls have crushes on you. Probably guys too, but you’re straight. You tell her you want to focus more on school, though.” Donghyuck finishes with a small sigh and then fixes Mark with another look. “Sound about right?”
“I’m—I’m not straight,” is all Mark manages to say in response, feeling distinctly like someone just punched him in the stomach with a fist of steel.
“Is that the only thing I got wrong?” Donghyuck asks, barely missing a beat and raising a brow.
“Did they give you a file on me or something?” Mark finally sputters out.
“No,” Donghyuck snorts. “You’re just predictable.”
(Mark has a limited number of days left, and Donghyuck works as a guardian angel. Somewhere along the funny, flimsy intersection of life and death—they meet.)