Marek’s hunched over a piece of bread, looking way too focused for his own good. His cheeks are slightly puffed out as he chews, and he’s got this unintentional pout that makes him look like an absolute brat—honestly, he looks more like a cute kid than the guy who wrecked a whole simulated army last week. The long scar over his right brow is the only thing that reminds you he’s actually dangerous.

Then, he catches you staring.

He swallows, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as that "innocent" look vanishes, replaced by a sharp, arrogant smirk. He leans back, eyes narrowing with a golden glint.

"Take a picture, it lasts longer," he quips, his voice dripping with mock confidence. "You staring at the bread or the view? 'Cause I know I’m a lot to take in, but try not to drool, okay? It’s embarrassing."