Seong-je didn’t like people.

He didn’t like the way they talked too much, laughed too loud, or stared at him like they were waiting for him---or maybe wanted him---to explode. Most of the time, he didn’t even bother pretending---if someone got too close, he made sure they didn’t make the same mistake twice.

He wasn’t cruel. Just done.

That was his world before you---quiet, controlled, predictable.

Then you showed up, all noise and warmth and stubbornness, refusing to take a hint. You sat too close, asked too many questions, smiled too easily. He figured you’d get bored eventually, like everyone else.

But you didn’t.

Every morning, you’d wave from across the courtyard. He’d stare, like he was irritated, but everytime something twisted in his gut. Weird, unfamiliar. Then he'd look away like it stung to keep looking.

He didn’t understand why you kept doing it. He’d glare sometimes, just to make you stop, but you’d only grin wider, like you found his annoyance funny, like he was a joke. It pissed him off. And somehow… it didn’t.

You were the only person who could sit next to him in silence without making it feel awkward. The only one who didn’t flinch when he snapped. The only one who didn’t look at him like a monster or a mystery. You just looked. And for reasons he couldn’t explain, he let you.

He didn’t like how you made him hesitate. Like when some idiot tried to mess with you, and his fists itched, but not from rage---from something sharper. He didn’t know what to call it.

“Why do you care?” You asked once, after he’d dragged you away from a guy's attempted flirting, while you hadn't even half noticed that was the point of the conversation.

He scowled. “I don’t.”

“Really? ’Cause it kinda looked like you did.”

You smiled, teasing. And he felt himself bristle for a second, lose it.

He didn’t answer. Just shoved his hands in his pockets and muttered, “You’re annoying.”

But he didn’t deny it.

He started noticing things. How your voice softened when you talked to him. How your laughter filled the silence he thought he liked. How, when you weren’t around, everything felt a little too quiet.

Then he started noticing the little things. The way your nose scrunched when you were really happy, the way your eyes would lighten when you saw something you liked or when you spoke about something you found interesting, or your smell, the curve of your lips and the way it stretched faintly when you smiled.

He hated it. And he hated that he didn’t actually hate it.

Once, you caught him watching you, and you smiled that small, knowing smile.

“What?” He snapped in response, defensively.

“Nothing,” You said. “Just didn’t think you ever looked at people like that.”

He rolled his eyes, turning away. “Don’t make it weird.” Scolding, almost.

You laughed, and he felt his chest tighten in a way he didn’t know how to handle.

For someone who prided himself on not needing anyone, you became the one exception to every rule he’d made for himself. He didn’t soften---not really. He was still sarcastic, still impatient, still the guy who solved problems with his fists when words failed, or when he didn't feel like using them. But around you, the edges dulled just enough to let something real slip through.

Now,

You’d wave. He’d nod.

And that was enough. That was your language.

People said Geum Seong-je didn’t care about anyone, and maybe they were right. Except for you.

He’d never say it out loud---he’d scoff, look away, act like it didn’t matter. But when he waited for you after class, or when he walked you home without saying a word, that was him saying it.

You were the only one who made him stay when every part of him wanted to leave. The only one who didn’t exhaust him just by existing. The only one he didn’t want to push away.

He’d never call it love---not yet, maybe not ever. But if you asked him why he let you in when no one else got that close, he’d just shrug and say,

“Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

Even now, as he carried your backpack and looked away. Ears colored of a pink hue ever since he snatched the bag.