Emma's Mark

MIKY

When I see Mark sitting at the bottom of the staircase, my heartbeat skips a beat. I can recognize his hairstyle from afar. I know every angle of his back muscles. His plain white shirt hugs his broad shoulders and biceps. If he knew that I have carefully memorized the contours of his built, he would assume I am a lunatic. Well, I will not deny that.

I start descending down the stairs. He looks up when my footsteps knock on the wooden planks. I almost miss a step when I see his face. His wet hair glistens when his hand runs over his sweaty forehead. I feel ants pinching my heart. Each pinch hurts. It hurts so bad that I want to wipe the sweat on his forehead but I can't.

Mark stands up and leans on the wooden handrail. I descend slower. I watch him as he slowly puts on his black leather jacket and grabs his bag from the steps. I watch him descend ahead of me.

Despite the winter breeze outside the studio, I am still sweaty from an hour of sparring.  I pull my hair tie and release my wavy black hair. My thick trench coat covers the sides of my white Taekwondo uniform but the front was exposed. I look down and my uniform is filthy with my sparring opponents' dirty footprints.

I have a dilemma to avoid Mark or just stay cool. As much as I love looking at him, I feel my heart constrict every time I see his pretty face.

"You're taking the M2 bus, right?" Mark asks.

He is talking to me. Mark First is talking to me.

He is three steps below me but our eyes are leveled. I manage to look into his eyes for three seconds before I avert my stare.

"No. Left," I say struggling not to smile.

For a nano second, I worry he doesn't get the joke. And then he smiles. I love his smile. I love his teeth. I love his smile. I love every angle of his face.

Why is Mark talking to me? I have been dreaming of this moment. I have been wishing him to acknowledge my presence for so long. Did I impress him with my spinning high kicks? Did he find it attractive that I scored a lot of head kicks today? Did he finally decide to stop ignoring me?

I can't look into Mark's eyes longer than three seconds but I cannot avert my eyes from his lips. They look so...so yummy. Some of his lower teeth are in different directions but his smile can melt any metal.

I keep walking down the stairs. He walks next to me. The narrow stairs can barely allow two people walking together. My left shoulder brushes the wall as we walk. Drums are beating on my chest as we walk side by side. Whenever our elbows bump, I feel weak and ticklish all over.

I cover my sweaty hair with the quilted hood of my jacket as the winter wind gets colder near the stair landing.

"Can I take the bus with you?" Mark asks.

"Why are you asking permission? I don't own the bus. Ask War, he owns it," I say trying to sound cool.

Mark smiles again. I should stop cracking jokes. Stop it, Emma!

"Can I carry your bag?"

No. But you can carry me, I thought.

"It's not that heavy. I'm fine. Thanks anyway for the offer."

I'm not that heavy too. I almost said that aloud.

What is wrong with me? Why did I refuse Mark's offer to carry my bag?

Mark and I walk to the bus stop at 34th St. & Madison Avenue. War, my gay best friend, has been waiting for me at the bus stop for twenty minutes. He looks pissed but he devilishly smiles when he sees me walking next to Mark. I use my telepathic powers to shut War's mouth. I know he is dying to say something naughty.