Requested by Mila.

Choi Taek had always been a little different.

It wasn’t something anyone said out loud, not really. It was just the way he forgot to eat if no one reminded him, the way he stared at things like they were puzzles meant only for him, the way he trusted people without a second thought. He was like a child---not helpless, not foolish---but gentle and naive, as if the world had never taught him how cruel it could be.

That was why you watched him.

You had grown up together, doors always open, houses so close that your lives bled into each other without effort. You were there when he came home late from matches, eyes heavy, shoulders small inside his coat. You were there to put food in front of him, to scold him softly when he forgot his scarf, to remind him of things he didn’t know he needed.

Taek never complained. He just looked at you with that quiet gaze and did what you said.

The other boys teased you the way boys always did. They called you names, poked fun at your hair, laughed too loudly when you got flustered. Taek never joined in. When they said you were annoying, he frowned. When they asked why he cared so much, he answered simply.

“She’s pretty,” He said once, like it was a fact that didn’t need defending.

You nearly dropped what you were holding. The boys groaned and laughed, but Taek only looked confused, as if he didn’t understand why telling the truth was funny.

He never hesitated with you. If you said you liked something, it appeared in your hands the next day. Snacks you mentioned once, gloves because your hands were cold, notebooks you admired through a shop window. He bought them quietly, awkwardly, like it hadn’t crossed his mind that it meant anything. He had money, after all. And you wanted it.

To him, that was reason enough.

Sometimes you worried about him. About how easily he gave, how little he asked for himself. You stayed close because of that, telling yourself it was responsibility, habit, loyalty. Childhood things.

Taek just knew that when you were near, the world felt easier.

He chose you without thinking. Sat next to you. Walked you home. Looked for you in rooms before anyone else. When he lost a match, he wanted to see you. When he won, you were the first person he searched for.

It took him a long time to understand what it meant.

One evening, he watched you talk, laugh softly, the streetlight catching your face just right. Something in his chest tightened, unfamiliar and warm. He blinked, hand pressing lightly over his heart.

“Oh,” He said under his breath.

He had loved you long before he learned the word for it.