“You both drive safely to the station this morning, okay?” he says.
Marlon smiles at him, the type of smile that deepens the dimples in his cheeks. Everything about his face, his expression, and his composure looks the part of a harmless puppy. Anangel.
His hair isn't as ragged as usual too.
“I will, Tito,” Marlon responds.
It’s only when Dad ascends the stairs that his stare fixes on mine, and he shoots me a mischievous wink.
“I’m winning them over already,” he boasts.
I narrow my eyes. “They’re easy to win over, don’t think it’s so hard to do so.”
We’re out of the house on time, much to my surprise. I personally think I set a record for quickest speed in eating breakfast,andgetting ready for the day.
I settle my tote bag atop my legs once we’re both seated in his car. AnAstroboybobblehead rests on his dashboard, and a rosary is curled around the visor. I didn’t notice these little things last night. Also, his car actually smells nice.
Tropical, almost.
“What’s this?” Marlon asks, as he reaches forward, his fingers toying with the dangling photocard keychain hanging from my bag that showcases the kpop idol Mingyu from Seventeen.
It’s a fun little tradition in the fandom culture to collect and bring an idol photocard out with you, often inserted into a photocard holder that you can attach to your bag as a cute piece of decor. I’m fully aware that to the outside eye, others may find it somewhat strange, though I’m not sure why. How it’s any different from collecting sporting cards, or pokemon cards, is beyond me.
Either way, I pull the photocard back defensively.
“It’s nothing, just an idol from a kpop group I like,” I say.
“Oh, which one? I’ve had some pop up on my playlist here and there.”
I didn’t know that. I glance at Marlon, “Seventeen.”
Marlon’s bottom lip puckers out, as if in thought.
“Hmm, noted. I’ll check them out.”
He starts the car engine without anything further to say on the topic, no comments shaming me for this hobby, unlike how I’ve seen others react online. A blanket of warmth settles over my chest.
As we drive off, his speakers play tunes from his phone. A vaguely familiar Japanese song sounds.
“What song is this?” I ask, reaching forward to turn the volume up the slightest.
“Specialz,” he informs. He turns his head to me, “From the anime Jujitsu Kaisen. Have you heard of it?”
“I’ve seen a few episodes,” I tell him, remembering some of the plotline and characters. “Gojo is an icon.”
That’s when Marlon holds a finger up to me.
“Yes he is, and he’smine,” he interjects, wiggling his finger.
I quirk a brow, lips twisting in amusement.
“Marlon Salvador with good music choice, brownie points to you, my friend,” is all I say, as I bop my head up and down to the tune.
He gasps, “It hurts that you doubted me for a second, Garcia.”
It’s only day one of the ruse, and he’s already full of surprises.
Marlon and I are luckily able to secure our own seats on the train, despite it being peak hour. More commuters crowd onto the train, filling up the aisles beside me. I shuffle a little, my shoulders brushing Marlon’s more than I want, and he eases away from me.
