"Fwee fwoo~"
Mark whistled in rhythm, his breath steady despite the distance he had just run.
The morning sun had barely climbed over the trees, casting long shadows along the park trail. A crisp breeze stirred the leaves, rustling branches overhead as birds chirped lazily in the distance.
Mark had been jogging for well over an hour, his black running shoes beating a rhythmic pulse into the gravel. He finally slowed near a pond nestled in the heart of the park, the water calm and reflecting the faint gold of the early sky.
He sat on a bench facing the pond, letting out a long breath. His arms sprawled over the bench's backrest, his chest rising and falling steadily.
"Haah… haah…"
The sweat clung to his skin, soaking the collar of his shirt, dripping from his jawline. He glanced at the tranquil water, his gaze softening.For a brief moment, it felt like the world had gone silent—like he was the only person alive.
'That's how it feels every day,' he thought quietly.
He liked the quiet. It gave him time to think, time to feel like himself. But sometimes… he wondered if there really was anyone who saw him for who he was beneath it all.
Rustle.
"Hm?"
His eyes narrowed.He turned his head to the side where the sound came from. The grass nearby had shifted slightly, but nothing obvious stood out. No animals, no people. Just wind?
"Must be my imagination," he muttered, shaking his head.
He glanced at his smartwatch.
6:28 AM.
His lips slightly curled.
"Eleven kilometers. Not bad."
He cracked his neck from side to side.
"Still got crunches, push-ups, and pull-ups to do."
Rising from the bench, he pulled off his t-shirt in one fluid motion. The cool morning air kissed his sweat-slicked skin. His body, sculpted from consistent training, looked like something out of a fitness magazine—chiseled abs, broad shoulders, muscular arms that flexed even when relaxed. However, he wasn't like those body builders or people who looked like they were on steroids. He had just the right amount of balance. In fact, his body was on the leaner side of the scale but not too much.
Sshlp.
He wiped his face and chest with the shirt and tossed it lazily onto the bench.
He walked about ten feet to a small clearing with even ground and knelt into position.
His hands dug slightly into the dirt as he dropped into his first push-up.Perfect form—his spine straight, core tight, chest nearly touching the ground with each repetition.One, two, three... twenty... fifty...
Click.
Mark paused. His body froze halfway through a push-up.
"…?"
'That sound.'
He rose and glanced around.
It was faint, but unmistakable—like a camera shutter.
"Someone there?" he called.
Silence.
He stood, turning in a slow circle, eyes scanning the nearby trees. No people. No phones. Just the breeze and chirping birds.
"…Huh."
"Maybe I'm just paranoid."
Shrugging it off, he returned to his set. His muscles burned slightly now, sweat pouring freely as the sun slowly crept higher.
But unbeknownst to Mark, someone was watching. Hidden behind a thick tree trunk, tucked in shadow, a figure crouched—barely breathing.
"Whew~" the figure whispered, heart pounding.
"That was close. I need to be more careful…"
They peeked out from behind the tree again. Their eyes gleamed as they locked onto Mark's bare back—defined muscles rippling with every movement.
"So hot~"
In their trembling hands, they held a t-shirt identical to the one on the bench.
"This is my only chance…" they muttered.
Tip toe. Tip toe.
The figure crept forward, every step placed with precision.
Shhp.
They reached the bench and, with one swift movement, swapped the shirts—placing the clean one almost exactly how Mark had left his.
Tip toe. Tip toe.
Then they backed away, heart hammering in their chest.
Safely back behind the tree, they held the stolen shirt to their chest like it was a sacred artifact.
"I… finally… have it."
"His... sweaty... t-shirt…"
They raised it to their face.
"Hmp!"
"Snnff…!"
They inhaled deeply.
Eyes fluttering closed.
Their knees nearly gave out.
"Haan~ So good~ I love this~!"
"Hm?"
Mark's head snapped back again.
'Was that… a moan?'
He stood, turning in place, searching again. Nothing but the pond and the trees.
'Weird. I must be tired…'
He returned to his workout, now moving to a sturdy tree with a thick horizontal branch.He leapt up and grabbed it with both hands.
"Haap!"
His arms tensed as he pulled his entire body above the branch—over and over. The bark dug into his palms, but he ignored it. Each motion was clean, controlled, perfectly timed. The branch creaked under his effort, leaves rustling overhead.
Behind the tree…
"Phew~ Safe."
The figure's face flushed.
They hugged the t-shirt tightly.
"Come to mommy~" they whispered.
And once more, they brought it to their face.
"Snnfff… hnnnngh~"
Fifteen minutes later…
"Huff!"
Mark dropped back to the ground.
He stretched, wiping his brow.
"One hundred and eight pull-ups."
He checked the time.
"Damn, already 7:00 AM. Gotta hurry or I'll be late again."
He jogged back to the bench and reached for his shirt.
"…?"
He paused, examining the shirt closely.
"Did I fold it like this?"
He ran his fingers along the fabric.
"And why does it feel… dry?"
He held it up, inspecting the sleeves.
The hidden figure behind the tree bit their lip in panic.
"Please don't find out… please…"
After a moment, Mark shrugged.
"Well… maybe the wind dried it faster than I thought."
He pulled the shirt over his head.
"Better for me, I guess."
And with that, he jogged off.
Behind the tree, the figure exhaled a deep breath of relief.
"Phew~ That was close."
They looked down at the shirt in their hands, cradling it like a newborn.
"I'm never washing this…"
Five minutes later,
Mark approached the park exit. A different guard stood watch this time, probably changing shifts with Joe.
As Mark passed, the man nodded.
"How're you doing, Mark?"
Mark slowed.
"I'm doing fine Jim. What about you?"
"Haha~ Still breathing. You look like you could run circles around a mountain."
"Well, I just try to be fit."
"Same routine every morning, huh?"
"You know it."
"Hey Jim, I wanted to ask you something…"
"Oh? What might that be?"
"It's about—"