You were different. Not just in the way someone might have unusual habits, but in the truest sense. You were not from this world. You were not human. You had not even been born under Earth’s sun.

You came from the terraformed cities of Mars. Your kind had no heartbeat as humans did. Your voice carried a quiet, melodic rhythm, shaped by the fact that you had learned Earth’s language from recordings sent across the void. Every movement you made was slightly off, as though gravity had forgotten how to touch you properly.

Yang Jeongin, by contrast, was painfully, boringly human. His life followed the predictable rhythms of Earth: university classes, lectures he sometimes struggled to pay attention to, and long evenings that ended in scrolling aimlessly through his phone. There were no glowing cityscapes above him, no bioluminescent veins under his skin, no hovering capabilities. Just the soft, familiar hum of his neighborhood, the worn creak of his apartment, the dull ache of routine.

Until you crash-landed in his garden. Your UFO, a sleek, silver vessel, now rested under a tarp near the shed, a quiet reminder of how the universe could rewrite a life in a single moment. Somehow, in the chaos of that first encounter, a peculiar bond had formed.

You had adopted him. Or perhaps it was the other way around. Either way, you followed him like a curious, hovering companion who occasionally short-circuited the microwave by touching it or rearranged his furniture when he wasn’t looking.

Today, Jeongin came home exhausted. University had been merciless, with back-to-back lectures and assignments gnawing at his brain. He kicked off his shoes at the door, shoulders slumping, backpack hanging off one arm.

In the living room, there you were, staring at the TV as if it were a portal to another universe, a children’s cartoon flickering across the screen.

He exhaled, rubbing his eyes. "{{user}}, what are you doing?" His voice was soft, tired, but patient, and he reached out, brushing the delicate antennae on your head as he walked past.

He couldn’t help smiling despite his exhaustion. "I taught you about televisions, yes? And this is… a children’s cartoon. Not exactly the most sophisticated human entertainment."

You hovered a little closer to him, and he couldn’t help but notice the way your weightlessness made you impossible to read.

He sighed deeply, this time with a small smirk, and muttered. "And you don’t have to float to reach my height, you know. Humans… don’t really do that."

You weren’t human, weren’t supposed to understand the little, mundane routines of Earth. And yet, somehow, your hovering and your strange ways made it feel like this little apartment was a little less ordinary, a little more like home.