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Park Moondae likes routines.
It’s simple, really. Wake up, go to classes, get bothered by Lee Sejin, go to photography club, go home, do homework, sleep, repeat. As of recently, though, getting bombarded by love confessions in broad daylight had made its way on Park Moondae’s carefully crafted checklist.
And so, his rejections go like this:
- “I have to focus on school.”
- “I’m not looking for a relationship.”
- “I’m sorry.”
After that, he would cycle through the three, moving the words around here and there to feign sincerity. It doesn’t necessarily come as a surprise to Park Moondae, the way things have turned out. He has high grades, helps others with studying, and, objectively speaking, his face isn’t too bad either.
But he’s sick of it.
Case in point: a classmate presently stands in front of Park Moondae in the middle of campus, eyes squeezed shut and cheeks a rosy pink, crying out words so fast that he can barely make them out.
“—so what I’m really trying to say is… I like you. I think you’re, like, really cool.”
Usually, this would be the worst, most uncomfortable part of the confessions, but today’s different. Because that asshole Lee Sejin is standing behind the girl—which is probably a coincidence since his next class intercepts with the path they’ve taken up, horrifyingly—and he’s smirking. It isn’t a subtle one, but more of one where all Park Moondae wants to do is punch him right in the guts. To make matters even worse, he puckers his lips and pretends to kiss the air. That’s the final straw.
Park Moondae makes the decision in a millisecond. It’s quite a rational one, he thinks. Moreover, it could probably solve all of his problems and he would never have to deal with one of these public confessions ever again. It’s a great decision, even.
Park Moondae points at Lee Sejin. The girl’s eyes widen in confusion, and she slowly follows the direction of his finger, turning around.
“Him. He’s my boyfriend.”
There’s an excruciatingly long silence coming from all parties involved. He’s sure Lee Sejin is about to pass out on the spot with the way his eyes are bulging out of his head.
“I’m so sorry! I didn’t kn—This is so embarrassing, oh my gosh, I’m sorry,” the girl screams, apologizing fifteen more times before walking away and muttering something along the lines of, this is the worst day of my life.
After she leaves, there’s another beat of silence. That’s until Lee Sejin slowly approaches Park Moondae and lets out a deep breath.
“I didn’t know we were dating,” Lee Sejin says slowly, his left eye slightly twitching.
Park Moondae is quick to correct him. “We’re not.”
“Exactly, so…” Lee Sejin crosses his arms with a frown on his face.
“If you hate it so much, then you can tell her. I just needed an excuse.”
“I never said that.”
“Okay,” is all that comes out of Park Moondae. He isn’t sure what else to say, but he’s sure that reality is about to hit soon and he’d die of shame.
Lee Sejin doesn’t protest any further. He simply hits Park Moondae a few times on the back with his eyebrows furrowed and heads to class. Park Moondae’s sure that he also throws up a middle finger or two, but he doesn’t ponder on it for too long.
And when Park Moondae makes it home that day, he really does die of shame.
—
Lee Sejin is something of a campus celebrity, Park Moondae would say. Not because he’s done something extraordinary and made a name for himself, but because he’s a social butterfly. It was as if every time he turned a corner, there’d be someone there to wave at him. When asked about it, all Lee Sejin had said was, “Networking, Park Moondae! Networking~” To make matters worse, Lee Sejin had a way with words, which simultaneously made him the universal campus crush.
Park Moondae had come to realize this when they met back in high school, with the both of them being deskmates and Lee Sejin immediately asking him if they could be “the bestest of best friends”. And from that day on, he’s never had a single moment of peace. Because of this, Park Moondae, unfortunately, divides his life into two parts: Before Lee Sejin and after Lee Sejin (read: when life was quiet and when life got a little too loud).
And as a result of Lee Sejin’s friendly nature, rumors spread fast.
“They asked me when we started dating,” Lee Sejin groans, lifting up his hand to pinch Park Moondae’s ear while they walk through campus.
“Just say, ‘We’ve liked each other for so long that I don’t even know where it began,’ or something. It’s vague but not too vague,” Park Moondae replies, paying no mind to the pinches or the pokes as he scrolls through his phone.
Lee Sejin stays quiet for a few seconds with gaping eyes and then bursts out laughing. “What the heck? I didn’t know you had such romantic thoughts, Moondae-Moondae. Haha!”
Park Moondae ignores him and clicks his tongue. That is, until he realizes there are a few curious eyes looking at them. Surely, it’s just a coincidence, because who would be so interested in the relationships of other people? However, he doesn’t want to take the chance and be accused of not having actual feelings for his supposed boyfriend and then being called a douchebag for breaking the heart of the amazing Lee Sejin, so he does what any normal person in a relationship would do.
He grabs Lee Sejin’s hand and gradually intertwines their fingers together. Lee Sejin freezes at the touch, but an annoyed smile eventually grows on his face.
He thinks that would be the end of it, until Lee Sejin pulls him even closer until there isn’t any space between them, then puts their entwined hands into his right pocket. What the hell?
“I thought you might be cold,” Lee Sejin proclaims, then, in a more hushed tone meant for only one person to hear, he says, “You’re killing me, Park Moondae.”
All Park Moondae wants to do at that moment is sink into the floor and disappear, because he’s convinced he looks like an idiot right now, with his mouth agape and fingers squirming. He’s sure Lee Sejin notices too, with the way he sticks his tongue out and laughs in victory. Under normal conditions, Park Moondae thinks he’d be irritated, definitely pissed off, but he can’t seem to formulate any coherent feelings because the room he’s left for rational thoughts is filled with Lee Sejin and how annoyingly warm his hand is.
They stay like that for what feels like centuries, until they’re in front of the door of Park Moondae’s photography club. Immediately, their fingers part ways, and Park Moondae’s first instinct is to wipe his hand on his shirt. Lee Sejin notices, snickers, and looks strangely displeased.
“Shall I walk you home later too?” Lee Sejin teases. Park Moondae imagines devil horns growing out of his head.
“If you want to die.”
And from that day on, they hold hands a little bit more. Just sometimes.
It isn’t too bad.
—
“Do you not want to date someone in a real way?” Lee Sejin asks out of nowhere as they walk to the student commons.
“I don’t see why I need to. I’m busy.”
“Don’t be like that, Moondae-Moondae. What if you really fall in love with a person one day?”
Park Moondae pauses and shakes his head. “There’s no such thing. It’s not happening anytime soon.” He scans Lee Sejin’s face for a few seconds before adding, “I could say the same to you as well, though.”
Oddly, Lee Sejin gets rather defensive. His lips morph into a pout and his voice gets ten times smaller than usual. “I’m not like you. You wouldn’t get it.”
Park Moondae raises an eyebrow, “I wouldn’t.”
“Have you really never had the slightest bit of interest in anyone?” Lee Sejin speaks again, louder and with more confidence.
“That’s right.”
“I see.”
Lee Sejin picks up the pace, leaving a confused Park Moondae behind in the dust.
—
Lee Sejin shows up at his doorstep one cold night.
Affronted, Park Moondae says, “Why?”
“I don’t know either. Let me in,” Lee Sejin grumbles, gently pushing Park Moondae to the side, then beelining straight toward his bedroom.
Park Moondae follows close behind and watches in horror as Lee Sejin jumps face-forward onto his neatly made bed. To be more exact, the neatly made bed that Park Moondae had been looking forward to sleeping in all day. The covers crease while his small yellow puppy stuffed animal falls to the floor with a gentle thump.
He blinks. “What the fuck.”
“Can I stay the night? I’m bored.”
“You’re supposed to ask that before coming over,” Park Moondae sits on the edge of the bed, repeatedly bashing Lee Sejin’s head in with a pillow. Lee Sejin doesn’t fight back or get mad. He just giggles with a shit-eating grin on his face.
“So… I’m taking that as a yes,” Lee Sejin rejoices, making himself even more comfortable in the bed before sinking into it.
“I never said th—”
“It was implied~”
“It absolutely was not.”
Lee Sejin giggles more and more and more, and Park Moondae knows it’s because Lee Sejin knows he’s won; because he knows Park Moondae has a hard time saying no to him and an even harder time trying to kick him out. Then, in a spontaneous turn of events, he deliberately reaches for Park Moondae’s hand and threads their fingers together, lifting them up and inspecting them like they’re the most fascinating thing in the world.
For a second, time stops.
Why?
They’re alone. There’s no need to play pretend. Who exactly are they acting for? Park Moondae’s eyes widen, staring at the person in his bed in complete disbelief.
“What are you doing?” He thinks his heart might be beating faster than usual, but he doesn’t want to confirm. Doesn’t want to understand.
“I’m your boyfriend.”
But he isn’t.
But he is.
—
They’re in high school, sitting underneath a tree.
Lee Sejin stands up, hands on his hips with a prideful look on his face.
A declaration is made. “I’m definitely going to make you fall for me one day, Park Moondae.”
"Okay.”
Park Moondae doesn’t believe him.
—
“Like I was saying, you should photograph me at my next dance rehearsal. It’s a win-win for both of us, right? I can be featured on the school’s page, and in return, you get to take pictures of the almighty, handsome Lee Sejin~ It’s perfect, it’s perfect.”
Park Moondae ignores the fly buzzing in his ear, continuing to finish editing the most recent photo he took to be put on their university’s website on his laptop. Crop, adjust white balance, exposure, contrast, increase saturation, sharpen. He goes through it like clockwork, moving his hands along the keyboard and mouse, maintaining a steady rhythm. It’s almost robotic in a way, but his flow is shortly disrupted thereafter by fingers pulling on his ear.
“What,” Park Moondae snaps and whips his head to the cause of his frustration, trying to control the area around his eye that’s about to twitch.
They’re both sitting in the library, in a corner far away from any seeing eyes. Shelves surround them on three sides, with the faint glow of the sun coming in from a window far away. The table they’re at is rather tiny, only made for two to sit opposite of each other. However, due to Lee Sejin’s constant whining and curiosity, he’s now squishing in next to Park Moondae on one side, their arms pressing against each other.
Not a word comes out of Lee Sejin for what feels like minutes. He just stares, and stares, and stares, until he tilts his head to the side and the tiniest of smiles makes its way on his face.
“You’re pretty,” Lee Sejin mindlessly murmurs while reaching forward and moving away the stray strands of hair that had fallen over Park Moondae’s delicate eyelashes.
Park Moondae’s breath hitches. His vision probably blurs for a few seconds, but he doesn’t think he cares, because there are so many other bigger problems in the world. Like one in which a certain boy is looking at another boy with so much affection and endearment in his eyes that their fake relationship doesn’t seem so fake anymore—because they don’t need to act when there’s no one there to judge them, but they do; because their feelings aren’t real, but maybe—maybe they are.
“We’re not dating,” is all Park Moondae can say, firm. Although, it almost sounds like he’s trying to convince himself.
“Yeah,” Lee Sejin whispers, fingers carefully tracing the other’s cheek. Soft. Attentive. Gentle. “We’re not.”
—
The smell of alcohol is pungent.
It slots itself in nicely with the sounds of laughter, glasses clinking against the table, and meat sizzling in front of Park Moondae. It’s quite out of character for him, and he feels so overwhelmed that he would very much like to get up and leave. But he can’t. He can’t because Lee Sejin had begged him to come, telling him to put himself out there and really experience a college get-together for once.
It’s not what it’s made out to be in the movies. If anything, it misses the mark by a long shot. It seems as though everyone only came for the drinking games, competing and seeing who has the highest alcohol tolerance.
What’s even worse is that Lee Sejin isn’t even here yet.
[8:51] keun sejin: running late
[8:59] keun sejin: i’ll be there in like
[8:59] keun sejin: 4 mins
[9:00] keun sejin: don’t miss me too much~
[9:00] keun sejin: oh and save a spot for me thank u
[9:00] Me: why
[9:00] keun sejin: please? please :(
[9:00] Me: k
[9:00] keun sejin: as expected moondae’s the best!!!!!!
“Are you talking to Sejin-hyung?”
Park Moondae looks up from his phone to find Cha Eugene, a hoobae-nim who’s in the same dance club as Lee Sejin, looking at him with big, shiny eyes. He’s leaning over the table a bit too haphazardly, his shirt almost brushing over the bulgogi on the grill in front of him. For some reason, he reminds Park Moondae of a cat.
He tries to hide his surprise. “What makes you say that?”
“‘Cause you looked grumpy this whole time, and then when you went on your phone you suddenly started smiling. You smile when you talk to someone you love a lot, right? And you guys are, like, dating and all that. I’m jealous!” Cha Eugene nods, both of his fists clenched excitedly.
Park Moondae’s mouth morphs into a foolish ‘o,’ his eyes growing wider and wider.
He’s curious. He almost wants to ask, Really? What did I look like?
As if hearing Park Moondae’s prayers, the entrance suddenly swings open, accompanied by the sound of the bell hanging on the door jingling.
And there he is.
Park Moondae looks at Lee Sejin until he gets his attention, and when they do end up making eye contact, Lee Sejin rushes over with what strangely looks like a sincere smile and starts waving violently.
“Moondae. Hi,” he breathes, staring at him longer than usual. Longer than what’s typical. After that, he unnaturally turns away and starts greeting everyone else at the table with the tips of his ears abnormally red.
It’s lively. It might be because Lee Sejin is like light, attracting everyone toward him even if they aren’t aware of it. That’s just the way he is. He likes everyone, and they like him in return. Park Moondae might have fallen victim to this, too.
Both of their knees touch from underneath the table, and they could move away from each other, but they don’t. It makes Park Moondae feel fuzzy, in a what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-me kind of way.
“You actually came,” Lee Sejin says later, shyly scratching the back of his head.
“You told me to.”
“You didn’t actually have to.”
Park Moondae frowns. “You would’ve started sulking otherwise, dumbass.”
It’s weird. Really, really weird. Lee Sejin looks apologetic for some reason. “I know this isn’t really your scene. I’m sorry, I just…” he trails off, biting the inside of his cheek while looking to the side.
If they had been alone, then this would’ve counted as a long, awkward silence, but with the further addition of music and people doing karaoke while blabbering their drunk thoughts, it’s almost comical. Park Moondae nearly wants to join them and see if it’s really as enjoyable as they make it out to be.
“You just?” he urges Lee Sejin to continue, getting ticked off at the tangle of noises.
“I like being with you.”
Park Moondae’s heart stumbles. It beats louder and louder until the sound reaches his ears and his brain and all his thoughts are filled with Lee Sejin, Lee Sejin, Lee Sejin—
“Shit, that was embarrassing,” Lee Sejin mumbles, his cheeks a rosy pink with the back of his hand covering his face. Park Moondae doesn’t know what to say, so he nods like an idiot in acknowledgment and looks at the wall.
They don’t speak for the rest of the night. Even when Lee Sejin offers to walk him to his bus stop, they walk in silence. It doesn’t help that their knuckles keep brushing against each other, because certain words start swelling up in Park Moondae’s throat.
The bus eventually comes after ten minutes of waiting at the stop, and Park Moondae comes up with another one of his rational decisions. The same “rational” that had gotten him into this dating business to begin with. In the grand scheme of things, this should be okay, right?
“I like being with you too, I think.”
He quickly runs into the bus, refusing to look back.
—
It’s raining.
It’s raining, and Park Moondae doesn’t have an umbrella.
It’s raining, and Park Moondae doesn’t have an umbrella, and he’s also carrying the expensive camera that took him three years to save up for, and he forgot to bring a bag to put it in, so it’s just hanging around his neck.
Which is why he’s been standing underneath the covered entrance of the science building for the past fifteen minutes, trying to decide what his next plan of action would be or if he should just find out what would happen himself.
And it’s as if the heavens are laughing at him, because the sky darkens as it becomes overcast. It starts to pour even harder, and suddenly the hail of raindrops is accompanied by the sound of thunder, and it blasts against his eardrums in a rhythmic manner.
But then he sees a familiar figure walking toward him. He knows who it is even if he can’t see a face, because of course he’d know. And as the shadow draws nearer, Park Moondae is even more sure of it. He feels, for lack of a better term, relieved. He might go as far as to say happy, even.
“I knew I saw someone in need of rescuing over here,” Lee Sejin boasts, swaying his own bright red umbrella from side to side in an attempt to annoy Park Moondae. It doesn’t work. “Thank me later,” he adds, grabbing the other’s wrist and pulling him out into the open sky whilst shielding him with an umbrella made for one.
It’s not perfect. It’s anything but perfect. The umbrella is much too small for them to share, and the way they’re resting against each other with no space is nothing short of uncomfortable. It’s not practical, and it could have been better for both of them if Lee Sejin had just gotten him another umbrella from the convenience store nearby. Here they are, stupidly trying to match each other’s pace one step at a time, walking much—much slower than they need to. But Park Moondae doesn’t hate it. He can’t bring himself to.
I could care for you.
He looks up and notices the way the umbrella is tilted at an unnaturally awkward angle, so his gaze drifts toward the root of it. It’s then that he sees it. He sees how Lee Sejin had positioned the umbrella to completely cover him and him only. He sees how the entirety of Lee Sejin’s right side is completely soaked, drenched in freezing rainwater. And he sees how despite all of that, despite his white shirt turning translucent in correspondence with the rainfall, despite him shivering and his fingers turning blue, he doesn’t complain once. Lee Sejin doesn’t say anything, and he continues walking forward, a smile on his face.
“Thank you,” Park Moondae quietly speaks, wavering, and he hopes the rain doesn’t drown out his voice.
I think I could love you.
—
For the rest of the week, Park Moonade lives on autopilot.
The brain works in mysterious ways, he thinks, because he can’t remember a single thing he’s done at all. Maybe that’s for the better.
He’s never been one to think about himself, what he wants, or what he thinks he wants. He knows he’s relied too much on his intimacy with Lee Sejin—on the mutual understanding they share and how it always felt like they could solve any puzzle together or fill in the blanks, slowly but surely without having to share any words at all. Except, now, Lee Sejin is an irregularity that doesn’t quite fit into the rest of Park Moondae’s carefully built puzzle, breaking each piece apart gradually.
There used to be a time, before he met Lee Sejin, when he was convinced that love would not happen to him. He had always been good at juggling multiple concepts, but his comprehension of love had been rather flawed.
Love, Park Moondae believes, is unknowing.
Love isn’t supposed to be done in a stubborn, uncompromising way. It isn’t supposed to be tragic, but it cannot be perfect. Love could be a picture, immortalized by a click, and then exist forever. Love comes in different forms, and love is a weakness. In the context of it all, love is unknowing.
He is not made of love.
He is not made of love, but he thinks he can be capable of it. He thinks he could try. Because he has a heart, because that heart can beat just like everyone else's, even if he might not exactly know how to offer it up the same way others do.
But, he’s learned that love doesn’t have to come from words. Love does not need to be tangible. Love is sharing an umbrella, it’s holding hands, it’s someone’s presence, it’s the comfortable silence and everything in between. To love is to see. To love is to know.
And it comes crashing down in waves, the realization of days and months and years and, oh—
I’m already in love with you.
He feels like he’s going to throw up.
—
“Are you avoiding me?”
“No.”
“You’re literally turning away as I’m speaking.”
“I’m not,” Park Moondae stops in his tracks, begrudgingly spinning back around to make eye contact with Lee Sejin.
“You’re totally avoiding me,” the other frowns, arms crossed and feet impatiently tapping the ground. Park Moondae also frowns in response, planning his next escape route in the meantime. “You’d tell me if I did something wrong, right?”
“I need to think. I’ll tell you later. Maybe. At least, I think I will,” is all he manages to say.
And he walks away, pretending not to hear his name being called out from behind him and the stares of the people curiously watching.
—
It happens two weeks later.
[10:32] keun sejin: hey
[10:32] keun sejin: i’m sorry
[10:41] Me: for what?
[10:41] keun sejin: that’s what i’m trying to figure out
[10:42] keun sejin: can i see you right now?
[10:56] keun sejin: oh my god you’re ignoring me again wtf
[11:27] keun sejin: open the door
It’s inevitable, to say the least. Park Moondae knew he was being completely unfair by running from Lee Sejin every time their paths crossed by the works of fate, or when he silenced his phone and let his messages from Lee Sejin pile up until the notifications hit double digits, the bright red circle taunting him.
Still, the last thing he’s expecting is for Lee Sejin himself to show up in front of his apartment, a box of chicken in one hand and a black plastic bag that’s probably full of beer in the other. He’s wearing a plain grey sweater with black sweatpants to go with it, the shadows on his face accentuated by the dim amber-colored hallway lights that flickered from not being replaced in months. And, well, Park Moondae would be lying if he said Lee Sejin looked bad.
“What do you want?” Park Moondae questions, even though he clearly knows why he had a nighttime visitor. He once again thinks back to all his actions these past few days, making him silently glower in embarrassment and dig his nails into his thigh.
“I wanted to see you,” Lee Sejin starts, and he looks more nervous than usual, like he has a lot on his mind. He presses his lips together in a thin line, opens them, closes them, opens them again, and then he says, “I know you’re mad at me. I don’t know why, and you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But I wanted to see you. ‘Cause I missed you. That’s all. And if you actually hate me that much then… I can’t really do much about it, so if you want me to leave, I will.”
Park Moondae isn’t sure where to start. “I’m not mad at you. And I don’t hate you. Come in,” he moves out of the way and motions Lee Sejin inside. Lee Sejin only hums a reply, taking off his shoes and putting on his self-proclaimed assigned slippers.
After scanning the living room and placing the contents in his hands on the coffee table, Lee Sejin plops down on the floor in front of the couch, resting his back against the cushions. Park Moondae’s apartment is usually dimly lit and rather minimalist with the few additions of figurines and stuffed animals—given to him by Lee Sejin—that could be found on his shelves, tables, and anywhere else that consisted of a flat, smooth surface. Park Moondae finds it aggravating how he could always find traces of the other even when he isn’t physically there, because Lee Sejin is like the sun and the moon and the stars altogether, encircling his world and giving it light, and if he were a poet he might’ve called Lee Sejin his universe, but he isn’t a poet. He’s a regular human being, the heart in his chest beating through his ears as a reminder.
Lee Sejin pats the empty space next to him a few times with expecting eyes. “C’mere. Let’s eat.” He reaches his hand in the plastic bag, pulling out a can of beer and pulling the tab back with a crisp click, setting it down on the coffee table in front of him and pointing at it. “For you.” Then, he repeats the actions and opens another one, saying, “For me.”
Park Moondae hesitantly takes his place on the carpet, touching the cold can with his fingertips but never lifting it up. He doesn’t want to be drunk yet. There’s something he needs to do, and he thinks that if he doesn’t say it now then that would be the end of it all.
“Are you not curious?” he starts, cautious. Nervous.
“Of course I am. But it’s not my place to pry, right? I’m sure you have your reasons and whatnot,” Lee Sejin shrugs, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.
There are a few minutes of what shouldn’t be labeled as comfortable silence per se, but something equivalent to that of regretful silence. Both the drinks and food are left untouched, with Park Moondae’s knee occasionally brushing against Lee Sejin’s thigh. It’s warm.
Park Moondae takes a deep breath. And then another. Then, finally, he adjusts his posture and opens his mouth.
“Apple juice.”
“Apple juice?”
The words come spiraling out like a swarm of bees.
“I like apple juice. But the thing is, I think I might also love it, but I can’t really tell because I drink it every day, and I’m just so used to the taste of it—” Park Moondae inhales, “but when I don’t have it for a few days, I miss it and I think—I think I get a little fed up when I see others drinking it too because they probably don’t like it in the way that I do. So, yes, maybe I do love apple juice. And I always swear I can’t love it more than I do right now, yet I know I will tomorrow.”
The only thing that fills the room is Park Moondae’s uneven breaths amidst the silence, and he’s scared to look beside him. But he feels Lee Sejin’s gaze, the staring; Park Moondae feels the way he’s being picked apart and inspected, everything on display for only Lee Sejin to see.
Everything is silent.
And then it comes.
“Ah,” Lee Sejin whispers like it’s a revelation. Like he had just been given the answer to everything, even though he knows almost nothing. Even though Park Moondae doesn’t have proof, he’s positive the world wavered, stilling time and pausing it.
Park Moondae isn’t quite aware of what Lee Sejin realized, but he’s even more afraid, and he thinks he’d be better off not knowing. He’s not sure how long he holds his breath before the next words come out and time fixes itself.
“I’m sure… if your apple juice were human, it’d probably love you too. And, um—fuck, what the hell, Park Moondae—have you always been someone who speaks in riddles?” Lee Sejin shakes his head rather harshly, as if he couldn’t believe something like that just came out of his mouth. “So the whole time you were running away… it was because you had feelings for me?” It’s almost comical, the way his fists are clenched and cheeks completely red, the corners of his mouth almost twitching up into a smile.
“I suppose you could say that, yeah—”
“Moondae,” Lee Sejin sighs, breathless almost, “I love you too.”
Park Moondae opens his mouth but closes it immediately. He hadn’t fathomed a response like this, so out of nowhere and so vulnerable; he’s sure he heard Lee Sejin saying the word love, and he crosses his fingers and opens his heart and prays that it’s real, because, because—Lee Sejin loves him too.
“Oh.”
“Oh,” Lee Sejin repeats mockingly. “I don’t know how badly you think of me, but I wouldn’t stoop so low as to pretend to date someone I didn’t actually like, and I’m pretty sure my little crush on you is the most obvious thing there is,” he breathes before letting his body relax, “but, I’m really glad, you know? I thought I fucked up somehow and hurt y—”
Park Moondae’s arms were already around his neck, pulling him in. And as their lips met, it felt like an instinct, with Lee Sejin bringing his hands to Park Moondae’s face, brushing against his jaw. They kissed with the promise of tomorrow, the goodbyes of yesterday, and the uncertainties of what’s to come. Park Moondae knows a simple gesture such as this could never exactly hold the entirety of the feelings contained in his body, even though it somehow does . It’s enough.
“Someone’s eager,” Lee Sejin giggles into Park Moondae’s lips, gently running his fingers along the other’s cheek.
“Sorry,” Park Moondae mumbles in embarrassment while pushing away a tad bit too violently, the tips of his ears reasonably warm. He does not know love, and he doesn’t think he’d be good at it. He’s unsure. He doesn’t know how to love in a way that doesn’t frighten him, but he thinks it’ll be okay. They’ll be okay. “I love you.”
(The world stays silent as they kiss again, and again, and again.)
—
“I won, Park Moondae,” Lee Sejin grins, nuzzling into the crook of Park Moondae’s neck.
“What?”
“I told you I was definitely going to make you fall for me.”
Love, it seems, is the most unknowable thing there is.