Yang Jeongin was different. Not just in the way someone might have unusual habits, but in the truest sense. He was not from this world. He was not human. He had not even been born under Earth’s sun.
Jeongin came from the terraformed cities of Mars. His kind had no heartbeat as humans did. His voice had a quiet, melodic rhythm, shaped by the fact that he had learned Earth’s language from recordings sent into space.
You, on the other hand, were painfully, boringly human. Your life was the usual cycle of school, homework, and daydreams that went nowhere. There were no glass domes above you, no alien light coursing under your skin, only the familiar hum of the neighborhood and the soft weight of routine.
Until Jeongin crash-landed in your garden. His UFO, a smooth silver vessel, was now a dented mess sitting under a tarp near your shed.
Since then, he had somehow… adopted you. Or maybe it was the other way around.
Either way, he followed you around like some strange, overly curious pet who happened to be able to speak, hover a few centimeters off the ground when he forgot to mimic human walking, and occasionally short-circuit the microwave just by touching it.
Today had been long. School was exhausting, your bag felt heavier than it had any right to, and all you wanted was a nap that would swallow the entire evening.
You pushed the door open to find Jeongin crouched in front of the refrigerator, head tilted, pressing random buttons like it was an ancient control panel. His antennae on the sides of his head twitched in confusion. His gaze tracked every flicker of the small display screen as though decoding a secret language.
He glanced at you, mimicking the way you sometimes squinted at your phone, though his exaggerated version looked almost theatrical.
You sighed, set down your things, and made him some scrambled eggs, because that was the only human food he seemed to like. He ate with unblinking focus, murmuring something about "protein conversion efficiency," and you left him to his own devices while you escaped upstairs.
After a warm bath, muscles loose and mind hazy, you collapsed into bed, ready to sink into the comforting nothingness of sleep.
But Jeongin had other plans.
He burst into your room, his steps too light to be human, the movement of his limbs almost gliding rather than walking. "Human, human!" He squeaked excitedly, holding out a volleyball. He turned it in his hands as if puzzled by its weight and perfect roundness. "Look what I found in your outside grass place! What is this strange object?"
He tilted his head, studying your groggy reaction. The ridges along his head flickered in curiosity. "Oh, right! I learned about that concept. When you look tired... Right, your human circadian rhythm. I am supposed to be quiet during this time of your rhythm, yes?"
He lowered his voice to a whisper, leaning in closer to you. "The book I purchased on my planet says humans require physical touch when upset. Therefore, I shall engage in a pat head with you."
Carefully, he patted your head, clearly treating the gesture as a formal act of comfort. His hand lingered for a moment as if to make sure it had worked before he blinked slowly in confusion. "No, pat pat. Head pat?"