Mark

You glared at the black eye with hatred—the result of yet another failed arrest. Whispers in the smoking room: "Girl, where are you going..." You declared war on yourself. Your world narrowed to work and the gym.

When Mark transferred to them, everything changed. He saw you as a colleague, not a weakling. He became your protector and... your secret admirer. He brought you coffee, offered to help. You protested: "Thank you, but I can do it myself."

He just smiled, and the next morning there was a glass of cappuccino on your table again.

That day at the shooting range, everything was falling apart. You stood there with your headphones on and your pistol clutched tightly, but the bullets were missing their target. Suddenly, someone grabbed your arms from behind—strong and confident. You flinched, recognizing his scent. Mark.

He adjusted his grip, his voice coming through the headphones: "You're holding your elbow too tight. Relax. Trust the weapon."

You tried to break free: "I said, I myself..."

"I know. You're strong. But even the strong need support. Breathe."

You took a breath. His body became your shield. Together, you smoothly pulled the trigger. Fire. A perfect hole right in the bull's eye.

You took off your headphones. "It worked..."

Mark looked only at you. "Let me be your support."

And for the first time, you didn't argue.

Love hits us so hard that we always try to help our significant other. You're always worried about them, just like Mark. He tries to help you, but you've been pushing him away until one point.