By Monday morning, the entire school had decided Seung-min was in a suspiciously good mood.
This was remarkable for two reasons.
First, Seung-min did not have moods publicly. He had expressions with minor seasonal variation.
Second, no one could actually explain what "good" looked like on him.
Some said he walked less like a man heading to an execution. Others claimed they had seen him hold a door open for someone without looking personally offended by the concept of kindness. One first-year swore Seung-min had almost smiled at a teacher.
Rumors spread quickly.
Jun heard all of them before first period.
He also heard the one he disliked most.
"Maybe he's dating someone."
Jun stopped in the hallway so abruptly that the student behind him crashed into his back.
"Watch it," Jun snapped.
The student blinked. "You stopped."
"You exist loudly."
Then Jun marched off before he could be accused of irrationality.
He found Seung-min at their usual desk near the classroom windows, already reading.
Jun dropped into the seat beside him. "Why are you scandalizing the student body?"
Seung-min turned a page. "Good morning."
"Answer the question."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You're apparently glowing."
"That sounds medical."
Jun narrowed his eyes.
There it was again—that subtle shift. Seung-min's face looked the same as always, calm and composed, but something lighter moved beneath it. A looseness around the eyes. A softness that had not been there last week.
Jun did not care for it.
More specifically, he did not care that he liked being the reason.
He kicked Seung-min's shoe under the desk.
"What was that for?" Min asked.
"You're smug."
"I'm reading."
"You're reading smugly."
"That may be the stupidest accusation you've made this month."
"It's only Monday."
---
At lunch, they ate on the rooftop.
This had begun in their second year after Jun declared the cafeteria acoustically offensive. Since then, the rooftop bench near the fence had become unofficially theirs.
Jun sat cross-legged with his lunch tray balanced dangerously on one knee.
Seung-min sat properly, which Jun considered a personality flaw.
The wind was cool. Somewhere below, clubs shouted over one another in the courtyard.
Jun poked at his rice. "Do you ever think people are too interested in us?"
"No."
"They are."
"Then stop being interesting."
Jun gasped. "I'm naturally compelling."
"You're naturally loud."
"That too."
He stole one of Seung-min's dumplings.
"You have food," Seung-min said.
"I wanted yours."
"You say that about everything."
Jun opened his mouth, then paused.
Seung-min was looking at him.
Not seriously. Not intensely. Just looking.
Jun suddenly became aware of the breeze, the sunlight, the fact that he was holding half a stolen dumpling like an idiot.
"What?" he demanded.
"You're blushing."
"I am not."
"You are."
"It's hot."
"It's windy."
"It's internal heat."
"That sounds medical."
Jun threw the other half of the dumpling at him.
---
The problem worsened after school.
Jun was collecting attendance sheets from a teacher when he overheard two girls near the stairwell.
"They're always together."
"Maybe they're dating."
"No way. Seung-min would never."
"What does that mean?"
"You know what I mean."
Jun did not know what she meant, but he disliked the tone instantly.
He stepped around the corner. "Hello."
Both girls jumped.
Jun smiled brightly—the smile that meant danger to anyone who knew him.
"If you're going to gossip," he said pleasantly, "at least be creative. You're boring me."
He walked away before they recovered.
Unfortunately, Seung-min was waiting at the end of the hall.
"How long were you there?" Jun asked.
"Long enough."
Jun groaned. "You're creepy."
"You defended me."
"I defended everyone from poor conversation."
Seung-min said nothing.
Jun began walking faster.
Footsteps matched his pace easily.
"You're embarrassed," Seung-min said.
"No."
"You are."
"Why would I be embarrassed?"
"Because people think we're dating."
Jun nearly tripped on nothing.
"I did not say that!"
"You reacted to it."
"I react to stupidity constantly."
"You react more when it concerns me."
Jun spun to face him. "Why are you like this today?"
"Like what?"
"Annoying."
"That's rich."
They stood in the empty corridor, sunlight slanting through tall windows, the school gradually quieting around them.
Jun realized suddenly that Seung-min was enjoying this.
Not openly. Not enough for anyone else to notice.
But Jun knew him too well.
"You're teasing me," he said slowly.
"Yes."
Jun stared in outrage. "You?"
"Yes."
"This is character assassination."
"It's efficient."
Jun grabbed his sleeve and yanked him forward toward the stairs.
"Come on."
"Where?"
"To buy drinks. You've become intolerable."
---
The convenience store near school knew them by sight.
Jun headed for the refrigerator section while muttering under his breath.
Seung-min followed at a calm distance, hands in his pockets.
"You started this," Jun informed him.
"I answered questions."
"You weaponized eye contact."
"That seems dramatic."
"It was lethal."
Jun grabbed two canned coffees and shoved one into Min's chest.
They paid, then sat outside on the low wall beside the parking lot.
For a while, they drank in silence.
Cars passed. Students drifted by in pairs and groups.
Jun's irritation thinned into something else he preferred not to inspect.
After a moment, Seung-min spoke.
"Does it bother you?"
Jun kept his eyes on the street. "What?"
"That people say things."
Jun frowned. "No."
"Then why were you upset?"
"I wasn't upset."
"You nearly assaulted a dumpling."
Jun sighed loudly. "I was annoyed because they talk like they know things."
"And they don't?"
Jun finally looked at him.
Seung-min's expression was unreadable, but patient.
Waiting.
Jun looked away first.
"They don't know anything," he muttered.
"Neither do we."
The words were quiet.
Jun's grip tightened slightly around the can.
There were a hundred easy jokes he could have made. A dozen ways to turn the moment light again.
Instead he asked, "Know what?"
Seung-min considered the sky for a second before answering.
"What this is."
Jun's heartbeat stumbled.
"This," he repeated weakly.
"Yes."
Seung-min gestured once between them—small, almost dismissive.
Jun stared at the space his hand had moved through as if it now contained explosives.
"We're best friends," he said.
"We are."
"That's what this is."
"Maybe."
Jun frowned. "Why are you speaking like a philosopher who hasn't slept?"
"I slept eight hours."
"Then this is natural evil."
A laugh escaped Seung-min before he could stop it.
Jun hated how much he liked being able to cause that sound.
He stood abruptly. "I'm going home."
"You live the other way."
"I'm taking the scenic route."
He took three steps before Seung-min caught his wrist.
Again.
Jun looked down at the hand, then at him.
"You forgot your bag," Seung-min said, holding it out with the other hand.
Jun took it. "You do this on purpose."
"Yes."
Jun narrowed his eyes. "Monster."
"Frequently reported."
Jun started walking again.
After a moment, footsteps joined him.
Neither mentioned the conversation.
Neither moved farther apart.
And though no name had been given to what existed between them, both carried it carefully all the way home.