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He already knew this was going to be a weird day when he had to haul his compound bow into class. Petra from the Math department gave him a look as he stumbled through the door she held open for him, a thanks muttered with his chin securing the stack of handouts to the tower. They're starting the unit on kinematics-a personal favorite of his- and based on the way the students at his last school wouldn't stop talking about it, he's confident it'll be a hit.
So here he is, squatted on a desk with his compound bow in hand like some knockoff Katniss Everdeen, and there's an overwhelming silence and three sharp inhales.
Seoho turns.
He turns another 60 degrees because his eye has been a bitch lately and needs some rest and he's wearing an eye patch, his one good, albeit tired, eye falling upon a large man in sweatpants and a zip up leaning against his door like the personification of the word 'Displeased'.
The man's name is Kim Geonhak.
Personally, Seoho likes to call him Muscles McGee, or He-Man, or any other name that indicates Geonhak's only redeeming quality is his abundant muscle mass, and that he probably wouldn't win out if his cumulative brain matter were placed on a scale with a pile of feathers on the other side. He teaches physical education on the other side of the building.
Why he's here, watching Seoho do a bad impression of Green Arrow; a complete mystery.
"Can I.... help you?" He doesn't move a muscle other than his jaw, which is actually made of a few muscles but goddammit, Seoho, now is not the time.
"Just need a word with you. Is after class a good time?"
They both look at the clock: 11:30. The double period ends at 11:50 so the kiddos can run off to the cafeteria and scarf down whatever nightmare the kitchen staff hit on their morning commute. This gives the teaches approximately 45 minutes to feed themselves, get their own shit together for the afternoon classes, and cathartically scream into the closest janitor's closet. So yeah, he has time.
"Sure, no problem."
"Great, I'll be waiting out here."
Geonhak leaves, much to the disdain of the female students and that one boy, Oliver, who may or may not be coming to a certain realization. Seoho closes his eyes so he can roll them in peace and gets back to his lesson. He's got a unit to teach, Mr. Meathead be damned.
"Alright guys, we covered the three rules of motion last class. Can someone tell me what they are?"
Jesse, a half-bright lightbulb who transferred in during the second week of school, rattles them off, and Seoho's heart swells with pride. The kids are retaining information! He's doing what he came here to do! Physics! Fuck yeah! And to hell with Geonhak, he can wait out there for the full 20 minutes. He won't cut their learning time short just because the gym teacher has some bone to pick with him.
He draws back the string. "Correct! Now, let's say I pull this string back with 5 Newtons of force. According to those rules, how much force is the string exerting back, and in what direction?"
"Equal and opposite!" One of the high-maintenance kids blurts. They'll have to work on that. Maybe another time.
"Right, so if you were to load an arrow into here and let go, the string would release the 5 Newtons of force. We introduced the concept of force being the combination of mass and acceleration. So now if I were to shoot an arrow into the sky, we can figure out exact where it will land and when. That's what our next unit is on. Any questions?"
He still hasn't gotten out of Hawkeye-position- his knees aren't what they used to be, so he's waiting until they go back to their seats to limit the amount of teasing that will inevitably follow.
"Mr. Lee?" One of the girls, Jane, from the top of the class whispers to him.
"Yes?"
"Your bow is upsidedown."
He looks at the grip, the handle looking a little funny in his hand and a little less funny when he flips it over. Oops.
"Thank you, honey. Everyone, back to your seats! I want to leave you all with a few equations that will help you on this week's homework."
The students un-assemble from around the long lab table in the back, giving Seoho the chance to jungle gym his way down with little incident, but it's not before he catches Geonhak eyeing him from the other side of the hallway, scoffing as he paces past.
He probably saw him holding the bow the wrong way.
He probably thinks Seoho is a nerdy mole child who has never seen the sun one day in his life.
Seoho sets the bow down on the back table and starts writing down the equations on the board.
11:40
Yeah, Kim Geonhak can wait.
++
He doesn't come out to get Geonhak, but rather lets all his students leave and waits for the 'should I enter or should I not' discussion going on in his coworker's head come to a conclusion. This attendance sheet isn't going to submit itself, so the longer Geonhak deliberates, the better.
If he didn't come in at all, that would be perfect.
It's not so much that he dislikes Geonhak as a whole, but he isn't particularly appreciative having someone around who insists that playing a glorified game of catch should be the reason that an academically weak and otherwise unmotivated student should be accepted into a prestigious school over someone with so-so grades who might learn a little differently, but is bright and inquisitive all the same. He's sure Geonhak has a few things to say about Seoho too, mainly about how he's so new and already pushing for their school to start offering a science research program, but he doubts that this is what he's come down to The Lair to talk about.
A sharp knocking on the heavy wooden door pulls his eyes from the little dots on his screen.
"Mr. Kim, have a seat." he motions to the open door next to his desk which leads to a semi-soundproof room. It was originally made for students who needed absolute silence to take their tests, but now it functioned more like a storage room and sentient filing cabinet. There's a table and three chairs there; one of which Geonhak sits in.
Seoho finishes submitting the attendance and takes a deep breath.
Here goes nothing...
"How can I help you this fine morning?"
Geonhak is wearing sneakers- Nikes- and looks horribly out of place on a floor where everyone wears brown dress pants and button-ups. Seoho can practically feel his posture straightening to counterbalance him on the formality scale.
"I wanted to talk to you about Peter Han."
Peter... Peter.... he flips through his mental roster until he gets to that one overly energetic boy who throws himself into things like an overexcited newborn horse, which was to say wholeheartedly, but without sticking the landing. He vaguely remembers sitting the teen down to ask how he's doing, and if he needed any help, or if he wanted to switch to a class that he was more interested in before being told 'no' and subsequently diving into how his grades needed work.
Major work.
Like 'you need to perform a virgin sacrifice if you want to pass'-level work.
"From Class C, yes. What about him?"
"He told me he couldn't keep playing lacrosse because he was failing your class. Kid's a star player, we need him on the team. I was hoping we could come to a sort of....agreement. What would it take to get him back on the team?"
Right. Lacrosse. That stick game Geonhak coaches.
Seoho sighs.
It's tough, he gets it. He's closer to the age of his students than to the age of their parents, and while he isn't getting any younger, he does understand that kids need time to be kids. They need to have time to enjoy themselves, make friendships, figure out who they are, and maybe get into a little bit of honest trouble. It's completely understandable why the students who fall behind are more than a little upset when they have to stay behind to get their grades up instead of playing sports, but in his eyes, the sacrificed afternoons are worth it in the long run.
What's confusing, though, is why he's arguing over it. Surely he knows this is a core subject, one that factors into receiving a diploma?
"It would take combined score of 150 between this next exam and the final, provided he does all his homework and attends class."
Geonhak's eyebrows shoot up to meet his hairline. "All this? For a test?"
This would be a great time to talk about how ridiculous the testing system is, but as it is, the state isn't so forgiving to teachers whose students don't live up to their outdated mold of what success is and is not. As much as he wants to agree with Geonhak, it's his ass on the line.
"Once he gets his grades up to passing, I'll take him off the list."
"Can't you let him slide? He's a good kid."
Oh. So that's how it's going to be, huh. If there's one thing he hates, it's when people think they can ask for favors if they're nice enough, or if they're mean enough, or if they offer the right things.
But favors are just like forgiveness. Favors are given at the discretion of the one giving them, not the one receiving. It is up to Seoho, not Geonhak, and his insistence that he disassemble his syllabus because it's inconvenient for him is absurd, if not insulting. He's got a job to do, and he intends on doing it. Seoho is going to take the time to work with him, and he'll be back on the field lobbing around a ball in no time.
But not before his grades are up.
"I cannot."
The obviously fake smile falls from his face with alarming speed. The alert part of Seoho's brain pushes to the front. Logically, he knows Geonhak wouldn't hurt him, but the fact stands that if he really put his mind to it, he could.
"There's nothing you can do." he challenges. The enigma falls a few ominous decibels lower, so low that he can feel it in the base of his spine, threatening to send chills up it.
"It's dependent on his grades. He needs to have at least a 65 to graduate, which means he needs to do exceptional on the next test and the final or else he needs to stay for summer school. It could throw off his graduation."
He narrows his eyes, peering into Seoho for any cracks in his armor, but what he sees is perfectly interlocking plates of reason, all which lead back to the same conclusion.
"If that's the case, I'll see if I can talk to some people. Thanks for the chat." The chair squeaks against the linoleum as Geonhak pushes it up to walk away. The tone of his last words sticks with him until he realizes he's been sitting at the table alone for three whole minutes and needs to get back to work. He doesn't have time to worry about that now.
He only has 30 minutes left to eat lunch and find a janitor's closet.
++
Seoho is going to kill Kim Geonhak, probably, if he can engineer himself a device that will get the job done without him being within throwing range of the gym teacher.
"I can't believe him." he growls into his hands. The only sympathy he gets is a pat on the shoulder form Laura, the biology teacher in the classroom next door, the one who gave him a ten-minute heads up that the principal was going to call him in for a chat about the afterschool policy.
"Neither can I. I mean have you seen him on the field? Wow. Just wow."
As great as the tip was, it still doesn't change that she is utterly and totally fascinated with Geonhak. She's married with kids in second and third grade, and she would obviously never leave her husband, but Seoho isn't blind and knows their gym teacher's physique is something people appreciate.
Ad nauseum, apparently.
It would be fine if he was just something pretty to look at- then it would only be half of the staff adoring him instead of all of them- but as luck would have it, Geonhak has the body of a marble statue and the personality of an overgrown Alaskan Malamute, which means everyone has a soft spot for him.
And the principal has a soft spot for him the size of Jupiter, which means that when Geonhak went up to him sometime between their little chat last Monday and when Seoho got summoned to the office with only ten minutes' warning, he managed to convince him that the 'star defensive lineman, driven, hard-working, brings a lot to the team' should be given some slack.
So now Seoho's been strong-armed into changing the prescription of afterschool physics every day for half an hour to twice a week for two hours on Tuesdays and Thursdays so he can be at practice Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. It kind of makes sense, but at the same time, it really doesn't. The schedule is also subject to change if they have games on Tuesdays or Thursdays, in which case the days will change and they'll have to make up the time, no, he was not given any more guidance than that. It's going to be a lot for the kid. He's going to have to juggle his sports with the vast amounts of physics Seoho is going to be shoveling into his brain along with the work that the other teachers have undoubtedly piled on as well.
But it's also going to be hard on Seoho.
Kids (and apparently principals) seem to forget that teachers are also people, and just like them, teachers have their own interests and hobbies and lives outside of their classrooms. And that time that he would normally spend at home he's now spending at the school, off the clock. Does he want to have to teach kids after school? No! Of course not! If this were a perfect world, it would make sense the first time and they wouldn't even have to do this, but nothing is perfect, and Seoho is determined to have his kids succeed- that's why he's in this profession in the first place.
And he's not talking about success measured in grade point averages and class rankings, no. He's talking about kids being confident enough to not know answers, but to be able to find them. He wants his students to discover what kind of learners they are, because they will be learners for life.
And he can do none of this if a certain persistent gym teacher insists on putting obstacles in his way.
++
He does his best not to take it out on Peter, he really does. It isn't his fault that the equations don't stick, and Seoho feels genuinely bad for him when he sees him eyeing the clock trying to figure out if he'll get to the field in time for at least the last few exercises. Poor guy is stuck in a never-ending game of schedule Tetris, and they haven't even gotten to the super tough stuff yet. Seoho does his best to keep himself level-headed and calm and gently guide him through the concepts.
But when he looks at the teenager, he sees everything that Geonhak represents, and his anger flares up like a sunspot momentarily before it settles back down into his molten core. It's all because of him that Seoho has to play a perpetual game of catch up on checking assignments because it's all been shifted to the side to make space for Peter and it's just stressful, ok? What's worse is that Peter doesn't seem to be making any progress- or at least not making progress according to the timeline Seoho planned out- and that apparently, game season is going to start soon.
He's stuck between a rock and a hard place, or rather between The Lair and the pitch. On one hand, he can leave things as they are and be very frank with Peter about how he needs to prioritize his academics, but if he knows teenagers- which he does at this point- he knows he won't pick science over sports. It just won't happen.
On the other hand, he could go back to the principal and attempt to undo Coach Neanderthal's damage. Seoho is a relatively well-liked teacher with enough social leverage where he could actually combat Geonhak. Whereas Geonhak is a guy's guy who can stir up easy conversation about travel and sports and any number of mundane things, Seoho prefers to share the more abstract, theoretical concepts with the minds who will banter with him. It occasionally lands them somewhere in the vicinity of a DnD campaign, and it almost always with his coworkers happily tucking away a list of books they want to read or movies they want to watch into their pocket for later.
"We're going to have our season opener this Friday, Mr. Lee!" Peter says as he's packing up. If he goes now, he can make it to the field before practice is over. The anticipation is practically radiating out of him. "You should come!"
But Seoho just hands the sheet back, tells him not to forget about the exam coming up, and wishes him good luck.
++
This is not good.
Peter needs to get close to a 90 on his final exam, and that's with all of the extra credit he pulled out his ass to help him, and Seoho is going to lose his job and oh my god, this is not good. He doesn't know whether to blame Mercury in retrograde or the American education system or the way they treat the water on this side of the country, but each panicked loop comes back to Seoho beating himself up because all kids can learn, he just hasn't figured out the right method to him yet, and forcing his students into one form of learning just so they can pass a test is just as bad as measuring their worth by the results of it.
He stares at the big, red '62' he's just circled at the top of the paper, fully aware that he's been over the responses four times and awarded as many points as possible, even in some places where he probably wouldn't have if it were someone else's test.
"This is a mess..." He'll have to revise the learning plan tonight. The team has been doing well (or what Seoho assumes is well based on his very limited knowledge of sportsball), so at least the kid has that going for him. Seoho packs up his laptop, papers left to grade, lunch box, and- hey, this isn't his folder.
He picks up the ragged piece of plastic with sheets haphazardly sticking out of them, pulling back the top cover to show the name Peter Han written in familiar, messy blue ink. He must have forgotten to take it with him in his mad dash to get to practice.
Seoho bites his lip.
It's probably nothing. If it were really crucial, Peter wouldn't have forgotten in the first place. If he leaves it there, there's a good chance they'll have a chuckle about it tomorrow and that'll be it.
But...
What if it's important? His student might need this, and since he didn't look into it any further than revealling his name, it could have important papers in it, or homework. If his Physics scores are anything to go by, he probably needs all the points he can get doing things like homework. And it's no big deal for Seoho to drop by the field before going home- it's just on the other side of the employee parking lot.
Geonhak will be there. He can finally see what exactly it is they do.
Two birds with one stone.
Yeah, he might as well return the folder.
Seoho tucks the plastic under his arm and turns off the lights. His keys jangle in his coat pocket as he trudges up the stairs with his turtle-like backpack over one shoulder.
He can see the edge of the pitch as he traverses the parking lot. The team of about 15 or so has armor plates strapped to them like they're going into combat and are shouting random words periodically, which he assumes are codenames for tactics. He can just barely see Coach Beefy Supreme's broad shoulders from where he's giving out instructions and encouragement. He looks a bit like a lion watching over his territory.
Seoho walks up to the break in the fence.
"Mr. Kim." He says just loud enough for the coach to hear. In that instance, he swears he can see Geonhak mentally quelling his 'fight' instinct. He can see the thought bubble over his head asking 'what are you doing in my realm'. He holds up the folder. "Peter."
Geonhak gives him a look, eyeing him up and down in suspicion and mild fury.
It's a good look on him.
Geonhak's deep voice barks out for the boy to come, and when he sees the dark blue folder in Seoho's hand, he comes running.
"Thanks Mr. Lee!" he throws the folder on top of his bag and waves as he rejoins his teammates for practice.
Seoho waves, curtly, turning away to go back to his car. He doesn't pay attention to the way the setting sun casts warm orange on Geonhak's skin, nor does he pay attention to the way he glares out of the corners of his eyes. And he definitely doesn't pay attention to the sense of satisfaction he gets from pissing Geonhak off.
++
Seoho is one of the teachers that everyone knows and generally likes.
Maybe it's because he regularly does unusual experiments and actually puts effort into engaging his students instead of putting them all to sleep with word-for-word recitations of the textbook that none of them use, but regardless, he's damn good at his job.
Attempting to reason with the principal gets him nowhere except deeper into trouble. He manages to win the ability to pull students before exams to help them prepare, but whatever Geonhak said to him, he did a damn good job at convincing Principal Meyer.
So good, in fact, that Principal Meyer visits him during one of his full classes to let him know that the 'wonderful Mr. Lee from Physics, you know, the one who launches rockets' paid him a visit to discuss some changes to the afterschool activity policy.
And Geonhak immediately storms off to find Seoho.
"Really?" Oh man, Geonhak is pissed. His muscles are all tensed and creating outlines in his shirt and his eyes look like they have fire in them. He could put a dent in the wall- or a dent in Seoho- easily.
Imagine if he put that energy towards something else-
Wait, what?!
Fuck, no, this is not the time. No time is the time. He cannot be having these thoughts now or ever. He pushes the odd thrill into the bottom of his being, and then shoves it in a box to unpack later.
"Really." He responds with the strongest voice he can muster. There's no point in denying what he's done- that would only make him look like a coward.
"He isn't even a science kid, he's into literature- that's not even the point! They aren't going to need this in the future! The only ones who will ever use what you teach them are the ones going into science and engineering."
"Mr. Kim," Seoho refuses to call him Geonhak. Calling him by his name would give him power, but the politics of formality puts a distance between him and the coworkers he doesn't regularly associate with; one he's sure Geonhak can feel. "do your athletes lift weights?"
"What?"
"In the weight room, do you have them do exercises?"
"Yes, but wh-" His eyebrows pull into confusion.
"And why would you have them do that if they will never need to do a bench press in the middle of a game?"
"Because it makes them stronger." He says, and bingo, there it is.
The one that Seoho gets the most is 'When will I ever need to use calculus? Just teach me how to do my taxes' and everyone laughs and they move on from it. Lots of people complain because math and science are difficult subjects, ones that have oblique routes to practicality and are often shrouded by complex, abstract logic. But that same logic, when sorted and understood, creates the basis for a wider view of the world. So it's fine if someone doesn't like the subject- everyone is entitled to their own opinion- but that doesn't make it useless.
Learning things like this makes students stronger academically.
Seoho pulls a wide smile.
"Exactly."
As he sidesteps around the lacrosse coach, he'd swear he could feel the enraged energy radiating off of him. Geonhak's probably not used to people actively fighting him, what with the entire staff being head over heels and all. Seoho slinks back down to the lair, pleased to have ruined his day.
++
Peter does better on their next quiz, thank goodness, and he very loudly declares that this means Seoho needs to come see one of his games, to which the entire class agrees, and with that many eyes and voices holding him accountable, he can't exactly say no.
So now he's here.
Seoho makes a face as he sits down on the cold metal bleachers, hands tucked securely in the pockets of his tweed coat as he waits for the game to begin. The other 24 members of Physics Class C are scattered across the stands so they can be with their friends, and apparently this is one of the big things that kids do around here, because if there's nothing else better to do, why not do this?
As players walk onto the field, the one in blue and white marked '49' waves at him. Seoho waves back. It's probably Peter. If not, that's going to be awkward.
Coach Kim turns to look over his shoulder. They make brief eye contact. Seoho lifts his head to show that he isn't afraid of Geonhak, and he isn't ashamed to be there.
Geonhak breaks away first.
The whistle blows.
++
The kid is just as good as they say he is. He directs his teammates to where they need to go and is light enough on his feet to shuffle from one opponent to the next. At one point, he whacks someone else's stick while they aren't paying attention ("It's called a 'check', Mr. Lee.") and makes it halfway down the field before tossing it behind his back to a midfielder circling around him. Seoho comes down from the bleachers after the final whistle blows to congratulate him on their win. Peter is shining.
And then it happens.
When all of his teammates are gone, Peter asks if he can speak to Seoho privately. His posture wilts before him, the boy becoming even smaller as he makes his request.
Peter has parents, somewhere, but where that is, no one knows. The state doesn't bother too much because they have more pressing things to worry about than 17-year-olds who are entirely self-sufficient even though they absolutely should not be. In a way, Seoho is like his parent. He and Coach Kim are the only ones who have ever cared enough to help him succeed, he says, and every malicious thought that came out of misplaced annoyance at Geonhak feels like a betrayal.
So of course Seoho agrees to giving him a ride that weekend.
His heart is racing because he doesn't want to get in trouble, but it's not like he's going to murder his student, and he does have a waiver electronically signed by Peter's generally absent parents, the principal, and all four guidance counselors ("All of us? Really?" Hwanwoong laughs. Seoho rolls his eyes. "Just sign it, will you Shortstack?") in his wallet. Just to make sure, he takes out the slip and confirms that yes, it is still there, before getting out of his little silver Honda Accord.
"Mr. Lee!" Peter's face lights up into 100 megawatts, the boy nearly breaking the laws of physics as he flies up from his seat to guide him over. A few of his teammates give him 'what the fuck' looks, but they get over it pretty quickly and focus back on the game.
"Hey there, Pete. What is all this?"
"Oh man, it's really cool..."
It turns out on weekends, Peter plays for the Club team Geonhak also coaches, after which he watches the adults' team's games. It's better than just sitting at home, he says, and it helps him improve. It's surprising- he would have thought with all that muscle, all that power, that Geonhak would be an offensive lineman for sure, but instead he moves a grand total of ten feet throughout the entire half-hour Seoho finds himself watching, and he willingly gets hit with 100mph rubber balls just to prevent them from going inside the goal.
Over the course of the match, he can feel something shake in his core whenever that deep voice rumbles out an instruction, or tells his teammates that there's an opening in their formation. It's easy to see where Peter picked up his skills. Geonhak expertly predicts where his opponent will try to shoot from so he can block it, and on the times he doesn't, Geonhak huddles in with his four defenders for a pep-talk before letting them go.
Peter does his best to explain the rules, though Seoho is still content to think of it as the biggest and most complicated game of semi-hot potato, and he doesn't understand why at the beginning they have to wrestle each other while in the girl's game he went to, they launched the ball in the air. He lets him go on and on because he looks so passionate talking, and somewhere between explaining off-sides and the goalie circle, he realizes why.
It's more than just a game for Peter- it's his social lifeline. He has a small cluster of four, maybe five friends, tops, he regularly sees him with, but isn't insanely popular at school. Not everyone enjoys being around someone who physically can't keep their volume level below 80dB. But when he steps on the field, he's in a completely different world, one where he doesn't have to worry about being alone or the daunting prospect of college or any other pains. It's a huge part of him, as foreign as that may be go Seoho.
When the final whistle blows, all of the other kids from the Club team pack up and go home with their waiting parents while Peter leaves Seoho's side to talk to Geonhak. The teacher takes off his helmet to reveal sweaty blonde strands which he shakes out of his eyes.
Geonhak is panting.
Seoho looks away. He pointedly ignores the way his chest heaves and his forearm muscles tense as he holds up his heavy goalie stick in favor of analyzing the forest line and the clouds and literally anything else.
"....but that's ok, you don't have to today. I asked Mr. Lee!" At the words 'Mr. Lee', Geonhak turns around.
"You play a good game, Mr. Kim." Seoho smiles, startling him. His eyes go doe-wide giving him an almost innocent look, though the tensed muscle and gleam of sweat trailing down the lines of his chest tell a completely different story.
"Why... thank you, Mr. Lee. I wasn't expecting you to be here."
"He's giving me a ride home!" Peter supplies.
"Ah, well in that case, get home safe. I'll see you on Monday."
"See you on Monday, coach!"
Seoho raises his hand, nonchalant, clicking the key fob so the headlights flash. Peter trots off towards the now-open trunk to start unloading the mountain of equipment attached to his bag.
"Nice to see you, Mr. Kim." His keeps his motions rigid; robotic. His clean attire and formality greatly contrasts the armor and dirt and physical exhaustion, and in a way, it brings balance. He nods in acknowledgement-
"Seoho."
In that instant, the world slows, and it feels like the universe has hushed the other celestial bodies to hear what Geonhak has to say.
"We aren't in school. It's just us. Can't you say my name?"
Seoho pauses.
Normally, he'd just walk away. Normally, he'd take a shot at the open wound and be pleased with himself because no one offers themselves up to an a starving animal and expects to be spared. But Geonhak, like Seoho, has been helping out his students beyond what's expected of him. He's a perfect role model, and while he might look intimidating, it was a well-known fact across the school that he had named all the stuffed animals he'd been gifted over the years and was a baby animal video connoisseur.
Seoho may have his opinions of what Geonhak believes students should be doing, but at the end of the day, Geonhak is a genuinely decent person, one who wants to help as many kids as possible by teaching them.
Seoho can respect that.
"Nice to see you, Geonhak."
His sullen expression brightens noticeably, and Seoho almost regrets his choice.
Almost.
++
Peter is partially why he agrees- volunteers, actually- to be a chaperone on the grade-wide trip to the Museum of Natural History. He mentioned it later in the year, maybe after the third time Seoho had gotten him from Club. Peter hands him the flyer and thanks him with the words he's been trained to use over the years and years of asking friends and family and other teachers to do this, and goes back to a dark house. It's a no-brainer to say yes.
It's not a bad deal. There's a small pay bonus on top of what's essentially a day off. Plus, Seoho doesn't have to try wrangling his students into learning about physics- he can just watch them from afar and enjoy being in a place he genuinely likes.
When he comes in that Monday morning, he's greeted by a zoo.
Classes A, B, C, and D are losing their collective shits over the fact that their two favorite teachers are going to be paired up to chaperone together. It takes him a few minutes to figure out who the second favorite teacher is, but when he does, Seoho privately loses his shit for a completely different reason.
Of course they're paired. Of course they're paired. Why is he even surprised at this point?
He hasn't spoken to Geonhak much since that time outside of school. The only thing he really says is 'Nice to see you Geonhak' when he picks up Peter from Club because he's given him a little slack, but that's all he's going to give. Inside these walls, he's still Mr. Kim from Phys.Ed, and he's still the reason why Seoho is looking for a way to directly inject caffeine into his veins. Has he seen the list? Who knows. All of the students scramble to get into their group and even bargain with one another for spots. Seoho tries to figure out what they're so excited about, specifically, via random sampling, but the answers he gets are mainly along the lines of 'because it's going to be awesome', which only leaves him with an empty scatterplot and the sense of dread. Whatever expectations these kids have, he wagers he won't have the mental strength to make it out alive.
"Mr. Kim, good morning." Seoho says, impressed with his own coherency based on the amount of sleep he didn't get last night. Their batch of 30 students are already counted and on the bus- the only ones left are the chaperones. Geonhak leans onto the heel of his workboot-clad foot, the loose cargo pants pooling over the tops of the laces.
"Seoho." His voice is a grainy, deep rumble. It looks like Mr. Deltoids isn't doing so great in the sleep department either. Then again, Seoho shouldn't be saying these kinds of things while in his Converse, jeans, and raggedy colorblock sweater with three known holes in it.
"Geonhak." He shoots back. Instantly, the look of annoyance changes to a haughty, smug grin, and Seoho kind of wants to kick himself for putting them on first-name basis, or maybe kick Geonhak for existing, but that would hardly be appropriate. Instead, he brushes by and steps onto the bus. "Let's go. The kids are waiting."
++
They make it through the first two exhibits without talking.
They would have gone longer had it not been for a headcount of 29 and Geonhak almost popping a blood vessel from how stressed he was over losing a student. Seoho doesn't have the energy to be frantic, instead searching the adjacent halls until he finds #18 reading a placard on prehistoric peoples. He returns her to the group and tells them all to count off again, this time making it through the entire numberline without incident.
"Oh thank goodness. Where was she?" Geonhak breathes. He double, then triple checks that they're all there, which they are, before directing them towards the next area. They've assembled into little pods of 4, 4, 5, 6, 4, 3, 4 which is 12, 7, 11, which is 30 total, Seoho's brain supplies.
"By where the dinosaurs were. Where are we going?"
A thick forearm appears in front of him, attached to a finger pointing at the archway to a massive, dark room. Seoho's breath hitches.
"This one is my favorite." he mumbles, mostly to himself, but Geonhak can hear too.
It doesn't matter if he hears or not- Seoho has always felt such amazement and such peace in this hall. Dark blue walls block out the clamor of the other halls, the lights bringing each subject to the focus of their exhibit. The floors show off the deadly elegance of jellyfish, the acrobatics of seals, the absolute forces of natures that are sea lions and walruses, but there will always be one that stands out.
Above them hangs a gargantuan whale that occupies the whole ceiling. The sheer size puts in perspective how tiny they are, and how humans are just one of the many beautiful creatures under the sun.
"I love this one." Seoho's gaze is brought down to the man beside him, looking up at the creature with the same awe. Geonhak stares with wide-eyed wonder, the sparse lights in the ceiling reflecting off of them as though they were stars.
He would look wonderful under the stars too, Seoho thinks in a moment of weakness.
++
The rest of the trip isn't nearly as painful as he anticipated, but then again, anything short of absolute torture would do it for him. They aren't so different as they initially assumed. Seoho is not a STEM-elitist who thinks the arts and activities have no useful meaning. Geonhak does have more than three brain cells.
"I'm offended. Did you really set the bar that low for me?" The kids are all ahead of them, the teachers sweeping behind to make sure everyone makes it out, though there are so many crevices and tiny hallway loops that it's difficult. It gives Seoho a convenient way to break conversation if he needs to, and to fill in the bouts of silence.
"Listen I was going based on the football guys at my college."
"You look like you're still in college."
"Excuse you! I'm a full 27!"
"HA! Old man. I'm 26." He quips back.
"How can you call me an old man, you're literally what, a year younger than me?! Maybe less??? When's your birthday?"
"July 26."
Seoho's hands go flying up in exasperation. "LITERALLY like a year and month younger than me, I'm not old! I'm from June '96! If I'm old, you're old too!"
"I saw you try to get down from that table, you looked like you were stuck in a 70-foot tree! There's no fooling this spring chicken. You. A Geezer. Through and through."
They bicker like four-year-olds until it's time to get back on the bus, where they proceed to bicker over who should get back on first ("Get on!" "No, you go first!"). The bus driver shoots them dirty looks until they take their seats (Seoho first), where then they debate the merits of art conservation. No one stops them because the students find this hilarious and no one is going to argue as long as they aren't making trouble.
"We're back already?" Seoho barely holds back from surprise-cursing. That probably wouldn't go over well since Meyer is a grand total of five inches away. But before he can wallow, Geonhak shoves his phone in Seoho's face and motions for Seoho to hand over his Android in turn.
Seoho saves him as 'Spring Chicken'.
Geonhak saves his as 'Squirrel'.
++
They text.
It's no big deal.
Sometimes Geonhak sends a message telling Seoho that practice is ending early and to not send Peter up. Sometimes Seoho sends him emojis instead of actual responses.
Beyond that, it's nothing.
From: Squirrel
T-10 minutes
From: Spring Chicken
Just knock when you get here
Apparently the term 'self-care' isn't in Geonhak's vocabulary, which is why Seoho is on the way to his coworker's apartment to force-feed him orange juice and chicken soup. He pulls into the guest spot in a complex not too far from his own and boots the door a few times in place of knocking.
What he expects is a green-tinted, irritable demon with red eyes and a foul mouth ready to fistfight Seoho at the drop of a hat.
What he gets is a sniffly, pouty Geonhak dressed in an oversized hoodie and pajama pants with polar bears ice skating on them. He has a blanket around him when he answers the door, and he winces when the sunlight hits him just wrong.
What in the-? How-? He's actually kind of cute? Seoho thinks, but instead bluntly states, "You look like shit."
"I feel like shit." he groans.
"Yeah, well.. drink this and sit down. I'll reheat your soup."
It's a shoebox of a place with a bedroom off to the side and a living room connected to a kitchen. He has a folding table with two chairs set up- one well-used, the other, dusty- and a couch that Seoho is pretty sure he saw in the Ikea catalog. On the wall opposite is a TV propped up on a waist-high bookcase that looks like it came from a yard sale. He looks out the window, then at the stack of albums in the window sill. Geonhak is a Twice enthusiast? Cute.
"Do you need anything?" It's comical, the way he looks like an abominable snowman in his blanket-cocoon, but it's also a little pitiful.
"I need you to sit down." The microwave beeps, and Seoho carefully steps around the random clutter to place the bowl down on the coffee table.
"Thanks." Geonhak does another sniffle; a consequence of the steam. Seoho opens up his own container of take out and digs in.
"Don't mention it."
He stays with him for most of the day. It's not like Geonhak is incapacitated, but he's less intense when his main focus is preventing his nose from dripping like a faucet, which makes it easier for Seoho to stick around. He makes a valiant attempt at organizing while Geonhak drifts in and out of sleep, but eventually declares that he needs a professional, and that he's tired. Seoho puts a new bag in the mini-trashcan so Geonhak can throw out his soggy tissues. They put on One Piece to where Crunchyroll last said he was, and sit back.
Seoho means to leave around 10, but he tells himself that he should stick around a little bit longer, just to make sure that he's ok. 10 turns to 11, 11 turns to 12, and somewhere between 12 and 1 Seoho takes an unexpected nap and wakes up propped against the wall with his cheek resting on the seat of the couch, the couch sans-Geonhak. He's about to start searching- maybe things got worse and now he's becoming one with the porcelain throne- when a hand pulls lightly on his arm.
"Come on, you can spend the night." Geonhak is wrapped in the same blanket, but his hair is wet and he's in different pajamas. He smells like vanilla lotion and tea tree oil, which means he probably went through some kind of skincare routine, and shit, how long has Seoho been asleep?
"I thought I was supposed to be taking care of you." He says, though it doesn't come out quite the way he'd like since he yawns midway.
"You've done enough today. Come on- up here." Geonhak unfolds the couch into a futon and motions for him to sit. He leaves for a minute (Seoho forces himself not to fall over) and returns with a blanket, a pillow, and one of his famed stuffed animals, probably for emotional support.
"Go to sleep." He says, and Seoho knows he should go, but it's just a little rest. He and Geonhak are on good enough terms where it isn't a huge deal if Seoho crashes. It's just like helping out a friend.
Friends? Is that what they are?
"Goodnight, Geonhak." he mumbles. The futon is too comfy. Any hope he had of going home has vanished.
"Goodnight, Seoho."
The bird song grows louder in the hazy green glow of sunrise.
Seoho listens, and he goes to sleep.
++
Things are... different. No longer does Geonhak's familiar cadence down the stairs give him a premature headache, and no longer does Geonhak look like he wants to scream into the void when Seoho does his squeaky laugh. He doesn't consider it good or bad or anything- it just is.
Their school's team doesn't quite make it to Regionals, but that's ok. They did well, and they're being recognized for many of their star plays, Peter included, and Seoho feels a dash of pride when he hears the name come up over the announcements.
"Did ya hear that?" Geonhak nudges him with his shoulder.
They spend time together now, too. Way more than with any other members of the staff, as Laura has noted. Geonhak does that stupid thing with the rolley chairs and Seoho puts his face in a corner while repeatedly saying 'I don't know you, I've never seen you in my life, we are not friends' until one of their other coworkers come in and they have to pretend like they're real, functioning adults. (And then Seoho will push him, and Geonhak will stutter-step towards him like he's going to take off Seoho's head, and Seoho will laugh as he scoots out of danger.) (Principal Meyer gives them The Look.)
During their lunch breaks, Seoho gets dragged up to the surface to get his daily dose of vitagmin D, which is in abundance in Geonhak's little broom closet of an office. Then they go find a janitors closet to scream in together. Since the gym classes are usually in the early mornings, Geonhak's days are open-ended minus Thursday afternoons when he helps teach yoga ("You're joking." "Don't even come for me like that when you haven't done the Warrior 3 pose!") so he puts the expensive equipment, I'm serious, don't drop that, Geonhak stop! Don't scare me like that! where he's told to amongst the experiments in the back. Summer is just around the bend which means there's one final push to get the students ready for finals week and their state exams. Seoho doesn't remember drinking this much coffee since his master's thesis, and he has the sinking suspicion that once this is all over, he's going to take a Marianas trench-level plummet into the depths of caffeine withdrawal.
"Yeah, I did. You did well."
"All that's left is you dealing with the final exams. Should be easy as pie now that I'm not around."
Seoho stops typing. The way he says that stings, as surprising as it sounds. Geonhak is half-seated on his desk with one leg up and one leg down, like he's ready to go at any point, and it's odd, Seoho thinks, that he might just miss him when he does-
"Mr. Lee! I forgot to ask-" Both heads turn to face one very confused Peter Han. "Oh... uh... hi Coach Kim. Should I... um... Should I come back another-"
"NO! You don't have to do that, it's totally ok." Seoho says, pushing Geonhak off the desk and onto his feet. He makes a noise like a disgruntled cat. "What can I help you with?"
Peter rushes up to the table and half places, half projectile launches a DVD box on his desk.
"I just wanted to know if this scene would work for my final project, but it isn't, like... super urgent. I wrote a note in there with the description, you can probably figure it out, but like yeah ok have a good evening, Mr. Lee! I'll see you at Club practice this weekend, Coach Kim!!!"
Peter hightails it out of the classroom.
"Everyone is gonna know about this." Seoho pales. He'll be greeted by the incessant questions from his fellow coworkers who have no sense of boundaries. The rumors. The implications.
And with Geonhak, of all people.
++
"Free answer #3. If a lacrosse ball travelling 50 meters per second travels from a player standing 12 meters away-"
Seoho starts writing down the givens on the board, but stops when he hears a series of giggles and snorts.
"What?"
Hayley does a poor job at stifling her laugh. "Nothing, it's just...."
"You and Mr. Kim...."
A few of the students have the decency to look ashamed, but the majority carry on like they've all been clued in on a joke, or have all simultaneously noticed that Seoho's shirt is on backwards.
Ah shit, Seoho's shirt is on backwards....
"What about me and Mr. Kim?"
"Are you together???"
"That is hardly an appropriate topic for school." Seoho tries to bring them back to the problem at hand, which is not his personal life, it's the exam which is going to creep up on them and pounce before they know it.
"You guys have mad UST." One of the foreign exchange students, Jacob snorts. The class devolves all over again. Even Lucy, the resident doormouse, is giggling loud enough to be heard. Seoho blinks in the face of chaos, utterly confused.
"Come again?"
"UNRESOLVED SEXUAL TENSION!" The entire class yells back, including Jane, who Seoho would have hoped would not involve herself in these shenanigans. Maybe if he's lucky, the universe will pop him a nice black hole to jump in, but as it were it looks like he'll have to deal with his embarrassment head on.
"Why do you all know that term.."
Welcome back to day #17 of 'Seoho has too many people to fight'. He's hunkered down in his classroom, which Geonhak visits even more often now because he must be a masochist, it's the only explanation. That or he actually likes being around Seoho, which is inconceivable. The more likely answer is that he's taking advantage of the unwanted attention being directed towards the friendly neighborhood Physics teacher and likes the sound of his exasperation.
Geonhak visits him with coffee or whatever healthy candy he's just discovered from the local healthfood store and stands a little too close, the students and everyone else within eyesight giggling and 'shipping it'.
Seoho still eats it, but he makes sure to call Geonhak a new and creative name with each 'thank you'.
He doesn't tell him about what the kiddos have been saying. He gets enough grief from them asking if they're dating, which they aren't, technically, but it's weird. Or maybe it's just weird for him? Either way, it's no big deal.
It's not like he really has time to worry about how his opinion of Geonhak is changing and what that might mean for their sudden friendship- it's already June and the kids are gearing up to take their final exams. Seoho is up to his ears in emails and word documents, and he's probably going to have an aneurysm if he has to wrangle with the practice-review questions on the homework website one more time. 90% of his diet is liquid at this point. It's a miracle that his marker isn't shaking as he scribbles on the whiteboard. Every day consists of him getting up too early, going to work, praying that his students don't make these kinds of silly double-checking mistakes on their exams, going home, and passing out at his apartment. Rinse and repeat.
Even if he did have time, there's no point in telling Geonhak about what the kids are saying. There's no way it's true.
++
On the weekends when Peter needs a ride back, he stick around for the whole two hours. While the youth team plays, Seoho whispers funny tidbits in an attempt to break the coach's stern demeanor, and periodically Geonhak will turn around and tell him to beak it. It's less because he's annoyed over the distraction and more because he doesn't want to give Seoho the satisfaction of knowing he made him laugh, but Seoho can see right through it and he does a little fist pump, and Geonhak smacks him lightly with his clipboard. Peter doesn't need a ride today because his parents are around, but Seoho decides to come anyway as moral support. Peter's parents thank him, which is 15,000,000 times more awkward than he ever knew a situation could get, and Seoho tells them that it's no problem, and that their son is a good kid. They talk for a long while, long enough for Geonhak's game to finish.
"Hey, wasn't expecting to see you here." he pants. Seoho hears the faint yell of 'UST!' in the back of his head and feels his eyes pop for a brief second before going back to their placid state. Hopefully Geonhak didn't see that. He didn't see that, right? He totally didn't see that.
"I wasn't either, but I thought I might as well. So uh... Good game?" He offers with an 'oh well' pose. Geonhak looks back to the board that shows just how badly his team lost in big white lit-up numbers and scrunches his face.
"Don't even start."
They bicker about game strategy on their way back to the car, which is kind of hilarious because Seoho has never seriously played a sport in his life. The only thing he's done consistently is play Nerf, but he still prods Geonhak like a sleeping bear ("Ok but they still scored like ten points." "I blocked at least 50 shots! They shouldn't have even had 50 shots!" "But you still lost the game." "I know that, stop rubbing it in!") just to watch him get riled up. They bicker further about the merits of team sports versus individual assignments while leaned against their cars, neither one getting in, then about the definition of healthy eating. After the cop car patrolling the area passes by a second time, they realize they've been standing in the parking lot for almost an hour. It's funny, Seoho thinks, how time passes differently when they're together. There's a pocket universe which exists in the four feet between their cars, one spinning underneath different stars.
"Get home safe, Geonhak." Seoho says as he gets into his car.
"You too, Seoho."
++
Somehow they end up back at Seoho's apartment with a few bottles of Soju they picked up from the shop down the street. What was it again?
Oh right.
("HE DID IT HE REALLY DID IT!! Seoho shouts as he sprints down the wide hall where the gymnasiums live. One of the nurses gives him a concerned look. All of the Phys.Ed teachers pop their heads out of their offices, Geonhak included, but when the rest of them shut their door because it's just 'that guy from downstairs' again, Geonhak gets out and starts walking towards him.
"He did what?!"
"He got a 94! He's graduating!!!" Seoho shouts, and Geonhak gets the biggest smile on his face. He lifts the Physics teach in the air and spins him around.
"OH MY GOD, HE DID IT!!")
Geonhak is sitting propped up against a wall, bottle in hand, kung pao chicken long-since forgotten.
"This is the most parenting I've ever done in my entire life." Geonhak's cherry-red cheeks and glossy gaze indicate just how far gone he is.
"Have you ever done parenting?"
"No, but I dog-sat for my friend Youngjo once. Does that count?"
"Dude, no way it counts!"
Seoho isn't fairing much better. He probably looks like those seasonal mochis with the tan and red wrappers. Damn, now he wants mochi...
"What a tragedy. You'd think with the way he treats Sunny that she's a person. What about you?"
"No way, kids aren't my jam. They only get fun once they get their own opinions."
"Well shit. Geonbae then." They try to clink glasses but fail miserably. It's ok though since the soju survives the miss, and the only person around to judge them is the other. They try again.
"Geonb-woah!"
Geonhak loses his footing and tumbles directly onto Seoho.
Directly on top of Seoho.
"Aw man... my drink spilled..." He can just imagine the pout on the gym teacher's face. He's probably going to whine about it.
"Get off and pour another."
"Don't wanna." In an act of drunken defiance, he does the droopy cat pose and stays draped right where he is, and god, what does this guy eat on a daily basis? Geonhak doesn't have the will and Seoho doesn't have the muscle, so they lay there in the middle of the floor like two idiots.
Honestly that's kind of what they are. They're two idiots tied together by a mutual thread, one that doesn't really exist anymore, yet they've still chosen to stick together. All this time that they didn't have to 'tolerate' each other. All this effort they didn't have to go through for each other. Geonhak shuffles beside him, and Seoho briefly wonders if he's going to puke, which is a much more comfortable concern to have than anything else.
"Hey...." Geonhak's voice is soft, barely above a whisper.
"Yeah?"
"No, it's nothing." He says, and for the first time since they've known each other, Geonhak looks genuinely scared. The proud lion who drew confidence from his own abilities is suddenly at a loss. But why? He slips a hand up Geonhak's cheek, fingers carding through silvery night-dyed hair.
"It's ok. What is it?"
Geonhak pauses for a moment before it happens. Whether it's out of trepidation or respect, he may never know, but his kisses are slow and careful and sweet, just like him. For all his brawn and belief in modern-day battle, he was gentle at his core. He liked watching the stars and seeing the sunset. His hands were always in sweater paws if he was home. Geonhak has slippers. Well-worn ones.
And Seoho is not like Geonhak, yet they are similar, like two ends of the same metal hoop. Seoho is inquisitive and brash. He jumps into things for the sake of jumping, because the ledge was there just waiting for him to discover its secrets. He kisses back with that same conviction.
They stay like that, Geonhak stuck laying on top of Seoho with his muscles acting like individual space heaters and his lips against Seoho's and his hips angled just so and the thoughts don't hit him, not at first-
Then they come crashing through like several wildebeests in a china shop.
Geonhak is attractive. Like really attractive. It was probably just his 'you are a headache and therefore I dislike you immensely' goggles clouding his vision, but Geonhak has been blessed in the looks department. He has these catlike eyes and high cheekbones and his body- God, his body...
His hips shift in response. It would be so easy if there were just a few fewer layers of clothing between them. Fuck, he can feel the outline of something long and warm pressed into the lower part of his belly, and he's pretty sure it isn't an oblong water coozie. It's too easy to imagine Geonhak slipping in and heating him from the inside out.
But these are dangerous thoughts that lead to actions, reckless ones, and they have real consequences. It brings him back to reality.
"Geonhak..." he mumbles in between the wetness of lips and the teasing of tongues.
"Sorry, sorry...." They pull away, leaving a coldness between them. The only thing he can think of is how of much he wants to be tangled with him, and how he doesn't want to let go. He wants Geonhak's brightness to warm him from his core and make him feel fuzzy happiness.
But they need to talk. He hasn't even considered whether he'd want Geonhak as a romantic partner, let a lone a sexual partner, even though he knows the answer is yes; would be yes a thousand times over.
They need to talk before this can go any further. Later. They'll talk later.
"We should go to sleep."
"Yeah, you're right."
He pulls a blanket over them to cover up the parts that were sticking out and got cold. He flails around enough to find the remote switch to turn off the TV, leaving them in a darkness quiet enough to fall asleep in.
++
Geonhak leaves with bags under his eyes and a container of Chinese takeout from the place next to where they bought their bad alcoholic decisions. They don't talk about it. Geonhak carries on like nothing ever happened, and Seoho tries his best to pretend like nothing happened because his brain cannot stop repeating his drunk truths even if his life depended on it. He buries himself in writing science research program propsals and recommendation letters for the juniors like Jane and organizes an end of the year party for the graduating seniors. He lets Peter know that he's proud of him, and that he wishes him the best of luck in the future. Peter promises to visit.
Geonhak does not.
++
Their messages slow from a near-constant stream to a trickle, and Seoho feels the twist of guilt in his chest for the way they left things, but he can't bring himself to confront Geonhak. What would he even say if he did? He sets his phone down and lets another night go by.
++
The summer is coming to a fast conclusion, lost somewhere between Seoho camping out in the local library with his laptop, camping out in the local cafe with his forms, and camping out in the woods where no one will find him. The district has finally approved his proposal of starting a science research program, which will begin accepting new students next month.
"I have great faith in you, Seoho." Principal Meyer ("Please, just call me Jack.") pats him on the back. Seoho is proud, but the pride sits in him differently than he imagined it would. He takes the hand offered to him regardless and shakes it.
"I appreciate it."
As he walks out to the employee parking lot, he can see the tops of helmets bobbing in and out of view. It looks like the lacrosse team has started preseason, how nice. Seoho's heart clenches as he remembers the way Geonhak's deep voice would bark out instructions and praise all in one go, and how he looked in the goalie circle. It's silly, thinking like this- he's talking like Geonhak is gone, but he's right there. Right where he's always-
"SEOHO!"
A drop.
A pause.
A gap in the long mental spiral down, down downwards.
Geonhak is propped up against the chainlink fence, arms dangling over the side facing Seoho. Has he gotten bigger since the last time they saw each other? In the distance, he can see the tail-end of the lacrosse team running into the trail leading into the woods. It's just them.
Him, Geonhak, and the words between.
"I wasn't expecting to see you here." he admits, and Geonhak lets out a breathy, low laugh.
"Isn't that supposed to be my line? I haven't seen you in a while."
"You either. How have you been?" He asks, because it's the only thing he can ask, and the only reason he has no idea what to even talk to Geonhak about is because he's the one who stopped talking.
"Could be better." The silence stretches leagues. He waits for.... God, he doesn't even know what he's waiting for. How silly is that? A degree in a field which sought finding answers, and all he can do is be content with his questions.
But then Geonhak goes back to his characteristic silence, and he seems content to just stay there, caught in the limbo of words between words that they're both thinking but cannot be sure of. Geonhak is scared, just like any other human on the planet, and if he can have another moment of security, limbo or not, it's more comfortable than taking the risk of confirming knowing there is a version of this conversation where Seoho does not return his feelings.
This is, of course, assuming that Geonhak does have feelings for him. At the end of the day, Seoho isn't a mind reader, and it's entirely possible that this means nothing, and that if Seoho pushes this issue further, he'll find out that the care and comfort blooming in his chest whenever they're together is a garden present in only his mind, and that Geonhak has never and will never see Seoho as more than a coworker, or, dare he say, a friend.
But unlike Geonhak, Seoho has to know.
"Listen, when.... that night... what did it mean when you kissed me?"
"It means I like you. I like you as more than a coworker, more than as a friend, and that I'd like to stay like that with you for longer." He states, surprising them both with the raw honesty. A little more quietly, he adds, "What did it mean when you left?"
While Geonhak might have trouble admitting his feelings out loud, it's Seoho who can't come to terms with them himself. He could make conversation for days about social credit systems and the SCP foundation, but he's at a loss when it comes to his own thoughts and feelings.
And while some answers hurt, they cannot hurt more than the dark answers the mind supplies.
"It means that I liked it, and I like you, and I don't know what to do with myself because it overwhelms me how I could see myself with you for a long, long time."
"But do you regret it, liking me?"
He doesn't even have to think about the answer. It's as simple as overcoming his fear and admitting it out loud.
But admitting it makes it real, and it is never easy.
But sometimes it must be done, not for the good of others, but for the good of self.
"I could never."
There are no jabs here; no playful swings. There is no need for Seoho to prod the sleeping lion to get his attention because he has it, and Geonhak will do anything- has done anything- to hold it.
It feels right when Geonhak's arms slip around him, holding him as though he were a precious star.
Perhaps in Geonhak's eyes, he is.
"Good. Neither do I."