4:40 AM, Wednesday, March 21, 2007: Montreal, Quebec

The first thing I become aware of is the sound of mouse buttons clicking and keyboard keys clacking.

I glance at the bedside clock to see early morning staring back at me.

"Jae Song," I test my voice. It is almost a whisper as it warms to the idea of waking up. I see on Jae's monitor the pixels of a game. "Have you been playing all night?"

Jae continues to click away. I know he can hear me.

I sit up from the bed and move to his desk. Wrapping an arm around his neck, I watch him play his game. "Did you sleep?"

His character dies. Jae stops his frenetic clicking, leaning back into his chair with a defeated sigh. "I can't be doing this. I hate that I keep doing this."

It is always this way with Jae Song. He is either passionate or obsessive; two sides of the same coin. If he loses sleep editing an article he is writing, he is being passionate. If he loses sleep to indulge a video game habit, then he is being obsessive.

I close his game browser for him and turn off his computer. The sleep fog clears pretty quickly, and I am awake, alert and ready to take on the world. Jae, on the other hand, is sagging in his chair like a sack of potatoes. He is a man waking from a long exhausting dream.

"I should have gone to bed hours ago," Jae chides himself.

I step back and roll his chair around so that he is facing me. He is ashamed of himself and doesn't look me in the eyes. I kneel in front of him and put my hands on his shoulders. "Son," I say with mock gruffness. "You and I are going to go on a morning run. We're going to have breakfast and then we're going to start the day fresh."

"Okay," he agrees slowly, still not looking at me. He smiles a little at my attempt at humor.

"I'm taking a shower," I tell him, standing to my feet. "I need time to get ready."

"Okay," he rolls his chair back toward the monitor and extracts himself from his chair to stretch. He is like a child right now, and, for a moment, I feel like I am his mother. It's a necessary evil, and something about the way he tries sparks my protective instinct.

I come out to catch him yawning while he laces his shoes. He could stay to sleep in, skip classes, whatnot. He's doing well enough that a spontaneous day or two off wouldn't hurt.

He lets me do this to him because if the situation were reversed, I'd want him to do the same. He doesn't want to let me down, even though I don't judge him like he thinks I should. I don't judge him like he judges himself. At some point, I realized that the best thing I can do for him is to support him and help him walk the path that he wants to follow.

We put on our shoes and leave the apartment for our daily jog.

The stars twinkle gently down at us as we reach the local park. I can hear the birds tweeting away, probably discussing the slimy deliciousness of breakfast. Glowing orbs sit atop tall lamp poles, casting enough light for me to see our breaths steaming into the air in front of us.

As we get into rhythm, I have a sudden thought. "Maybe I'll stay up with you to guilt you into going to bed earlier."

"Please don't," Jae begs. "I feel bad enough ruining my day. I wouldn't want to ruin yours."

"How could you say that it's ruined before it's even started?" I quip. "Maybe this is the day you get picked as editor in chief. You'd like that right?"

"I'll get what I deserve," he says guardedly, and my question goes unanswered.

"You deserve the world, Jae."

Jae becomes quiet at that. He doesn't handle compliments well, even from me. He is cynical and self-deprecating, and he doesn't believe about himself what I do about him. If only he could love himself as much as I love him. The sound of our shoes clapping the pavement and the in-and-out rhythm of our quickened breaths drone on in the aftermath.

"Call me before you take naps, okay?" I say as we round a bend.

"Why? So you can be my alarm clock?

"If it's an alarm clock that tells you that it loves you, yes. And don't even think about turning off your phone or ignoring my calls, okay?"

"Mary," Jae wants to tell me something but he is at a loss for words.

"What?" I prompt him, but he seems unable or unwilling to voice his thoughts. The poor soul. I trace the shadowy outlines of benches and trees. There are a few other joggers going about in the pre-dawn.

A dark thought strays before me. Would I care so much about this man if I didn't see him as a project to be worked on? What if he were already perfect? What if all his psychological issues and insecurities were to be replaced by the healthy dose of self-esteem that I want him to have? Is there a part of me that engages with Jae Song solely for the pride I'd feel for having fixed him? I know the feeling. It's what a mother might feel having raised a successful child or what a hobbyist might feel having finished building a good car. There are few sensations more deeply rewarding than that of a job well done.

I peer into my soul, and I see that my love for Jae Song transcends that feeling, I think. I am momentarily relieved. It's funny because I'm doing exactly what Jae Song does to himself. I am judging myself by some impossible standard of moral perfection. We are two peas in a pod. Alone, we are nothing. Together, we could tower into the realm of giants and become the magic beanstalk by which the fabled Jack ascends to the kingdom in the sky.

"You're the best," is what Jae finally settles for after his long, silent meditation and breaking me from mine. I know what it is he really wants to say.

"Love you too."

It is moments like these that make me feel really happy to be alive.

A/N: Boop beep. Editor bot. Beep boop