Chapter Text
It wasn’t that Leo didn’t want to feel. He just didn’t know how anymore.
He sat in the counseling room with his hands resting on his knees, palms pressed against the fabric of his trousers. The ticking of the wall clock cut through the silence every second, each click a clean, sterile sound. His doctor waited for him to speak. He didn’t. Not because he was unwilling, but because there was nothing to say.
“Leo,” The doctor finally said. Her voice was calm, careful. “Before we begin this semester, I want to make sure you’re ready for new environments. College will be a big change.”
He nodded once.
“Can you tell me,” she continued, “how your emotional responses have been lately?”
He thought about that for a moment. What counts as ‘emotional responses’? He’d read about them, memorized their clinical definitions, and their typical physical manifestations. Flustered meant warmth in the cheeks, heartbeat irregular. Sadness meant heaviness in the chest, tears, perhaps a dull ache. Happiness was supposed to feel like light. He’d never quite understood that one.
“I… haven’t experienced anything different,” he said eventually.
The doctor wrote something down. The sound of her pen scratching the clipboard filled the room for a few seconds.
“That’s okay,” she said. “College is often when people your age encounter new social dynamics. New relationships. Sometimes, those experiences stir something unexpected. You’ve made good progress understanding emotions intellectually. If something new comes up, just bring it here. All right?”
Leo nodded again. It was the same conversation they’d had before every school year since high school. Routine.
The doctor leaned back in her chair. “Before we continue, I’d like to revisit something. Just briefly.”
He knew what was coming. The room seemed to grow quieter.
“Can you tell me,” she asked softly, “how do you remember that night?”
He didn’t flinch. His expression didn’t change. But the question peeled open a door he’d learned to keep locked; not sealed, just… pushed shut.
The night was humid. The kind of sticky warmth that clung to the walls and floor, heavy in the lungs. Leo remembered lying in bed with the window cracked open, listening to the faint sound of traffic outside. He’d always liked quiet nights; the distant engines were easier to process than people’s voices.
But that night, voices filled the house. Not just voices— sharp, cutting words. Rising and falling, slamming into each other like crashing waves. The walls weren’t thick enough to keep them out.
He sat upright slowly. He wasn’t sure how long it had been going on. Minutes? Hours? His sense of time blurred when the shouting started.
A door opened down the hall. Heavy footsteps. Another door slammed. The arguments didn’t sound like they used to. There had been tension before; there always was, but this time, something about it felt… different. Louder. Shakier.
He padded quietly down the hall, bare feet pressing into the cold floorboards. At the end of the hallway, the kitchen light spilled through the cracks of a doorway. The voices were clearer now. One low, controlled voice; the kind that quivered when pushed too far. The other sharp, like glass breaking over and over.
He didn’t remember the exact words. His brain had filed them away as muffled noise. But he remembered the rhythm: accusation, denial, accusation, silence. A chair scraping the floor. Something heavy falling.
His hands tightened around the doorframe as he peeked in.
Two adults stood opposite each other, both shaking in their own ways. One gripped the edge of the counter until their knuckles turned white; the other held a glass, trembling so hard it looked like it might shatter. For a moment, Leo thought about walking in, asking them to stop. But that thought floated away just as quickly as it came. What would he even say?
He took a step back when a hand suddenly struck the counter. The sound echoed like a gunshot through the kitchen. His breathing quickened, though his face didn’t show it. Another crash; this time, the glass. Pieces scattered across the tiles, glinting under the fluorescent light. One of them shouted something. The other shouted back.
Leo didn’t remember moving, but suddenly he was standing in the doorway. His presence made them both pause. Their eyes turned toward him; not soft, not warm, but startled. The kind of startledness that comes when someone sees a mirror they didn’t expect.
He stood there, silent. They stood there, silent. For a second, it felt like the whole house stopped breathing.
Then someone whispered his name, their voice cracking. And in that crack, everything split.
The next thing he remembered was the sound of running water. The scent of iron and soap. His hands were wet. There were voices, but they were muffled again, like he was underwater. He saw someone crying at the kitchen table, and someone else staring blankly at the wall. He remembered sitting on the floor, back against the hallway, knees tucked against his chest. The light in the kitchen stayed on until morning.
After that night, the house became quieter. Not the peaceful way, it was scary. Words were replaced with silence. Faces were replaced with walls. Eventually, there were no more footsteps in the house but his.
Leo blinked, returning to the present. The doctor was still watching him, though she hadn’t interrupted. She knew his silences well.
“Do you still think about it?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Sometimes I remember things. But I don’t feel anything.”
She nodded slowly. “You might not, not yet. But your brain remembers in ways the rest of you doesn’t. That’s why it’s important to keep talking about it, even if it feels… empty.”
He didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure what kind of answer she was expecting anyway.
“Leo,” she added gently, “you’ve done well to adapt. But adapting isn’t the same as healing. College might stir things up, whether you expect it or not. If that happens, I want you to observe. Ask questions, like you always do. Bring those observations here. Okay?”
“I understand.”
She smiled faintly, satisfied with that for now. “Good. Let’s talk about some coping techniques if you find yourself overwhelmed. While I can’t still diagnose you officially with Alexithymia since it is still not recognized by the state as a sole condition, I believe that exposure is what you need. The condition is broad, after all; but the baseline is that you can’t pinpoint emotions, or show them appropriately. It is mostly a secondary diagnosis too, so… you might be dealing with something more deeper.” She typed more onto her computer.
“I’ll email you for the next schedule. I’ll be in a different hospital for a couple of weeks which is a long commute, so I’ll just set you up for an online one.”
When he left the building, the air was hot again. Not the suffocating heat of that night, but close. He walked to his campus slowly, passing groups of students laughing, chatting, greeting friends they hadn’t seen since summer. The noise didn’t bother him, but it didn’t affect him either. It was just there, like background music in a store.
Leo glanced at them, curious in a distant sort of way. How did people laugh so freely? What made a conversation worth smiling over? He’d studied these reactions for years, but witnessing them in real life felt like watching an unfamiliar language being spoken too fast to follow.
He reached the bench near the business building and sat down. The orientation banners flapped lazily in the warm wind. Tomorrow, classes will start. He didn’t care about the course, business was just the first thing he saw on the list when he’d applied, but he figured it didn’t matter. He didn’t have preferences anyway.
As he sat there, he found himself thinking back to his doctor’s words: College might stir things up.
He wasn’t sure what ‘stir’ meant in this context. He understood the word literally. But emotionally? He couldn’t imagine what feelings he could possibly have left to stir.
—
Everyday felt the same for Leo… but he doesn’t mind it. Why would he?
The next day, as usual, the morning sunlight breached through the lecture hall’s blinds; streaking across the rows of chairs and emphasizing the dust in the air. Leo arrives 5 minutes early like clockwork; not out of enthusiasm, but because being early meant silence.
He took the seat by the window, second row from the back. People were less likely to sit next to him, and he’s far enough for the lecturer to not notice him. He laid his notebook on the desk, lined up his pens, and opened the syllabus on his tablet. It was a routine he always had.
Outside, students started to come in groups. Some were freaking out of a project, which Leo didn’t get since if they had just done it early then they wouldn’t be having a problem. Another group was raving about a new pop group and they were dancing and singing along. Leo just watched them as is but on mute; clear images, but no emotional attachment.
The room started to get a bit rowdy, so he pulled out his headphones and wore them. Focused on his tablet, he scrolls through the upcoming lessons to plan out the rest of his month.
That is until the very thing he was trying to avoid happened.
“Hi, um, sorry.” Someone tapped him, as he moved one side of his headphone on the back of his ear. “Is this seat taken?”
It was a boy who was around the same height as him. Hair was all the way down to his eyes, but still glimmered through. Had a soft smile that didn’t seem forced but still a bit off.
“No.” Leo answered.
The other guy blinked in response, waiting if Leo was going to say more. After a few seconds of awkward silence, he coughed; debating if he should just find another place to sit. But that’s the one thing they had in common: avoiding people. He then slid on the seat carefully, like Leo was about to object. “...Thanks. My usual seat was taken and class is about to start…”
Leo didn’t answer, as he continued on with his business. At the edge of his vision, he could see the boy unpacking his things: a notebook with a seemingly abstract cover, a few pens and highlighters, and an almost crumpled water bottle. He seemed all over the place, even brushing his arm accidentally with Leo’s which made him stiffened.
The professor arrived, called for silence, and the chatter died down. Leo slipped easily into listening mode: eyes on the board, notes neat and precise. It was easier to focus on bullet points than people.
Halfway through the lecture, the boy beside him whispered, “Did she say Week 5 or Week 6 for the midterm?”
Leo blinked. He hadn’t expected to be addressed. “Week 6,” he said quietly.
“Ah. Thanks.” The boy gave him a quick grin before scribbling on his notes.
Leo stared at that grin for a second too long. Then he forced himself back to the board.
His focus is a little off today.
—
After class, Leo packed his things with practiced efficiency. Most students lingered to chat, but he slipped out before the crowd thickened. He took the usual path to the cafeteria: a straight line past the courtyard, down the covered walkway, across the vending machines.
He chose an empty table by the wall. Ate his lunch in silence and watched the crowd.
He noticed the boy again. The boy sat with a group near the center of the cafeteria, laughing loudly at something. His laugh carried easily. He gestured a lot when he spoke, like his hands couldn’t keep still.
Leo wondered, briefly, why someone like that sat beside someone like him. Moreso why he was acting like that at the cafeteria when the guy said earlier that he didn’t want to talk to people.
Then he shook the thought away. Irrelevant.
—
In the following days, the boy still sat next to him. Sometimes he was late; whispering an apology. Was it directed to him? He didn’t need to. Doesn’t really mean that they don’t talk; the guy would ask him for a pen, ask what’s on the board since he couldn’t see, and the likes.
One humid afternoon, the air-conditioning in the room broke. Everyone was pretty agitated due to the heat. Sweat beaded along Leo’s hairline; sticking his fringe to his forehead. It didn’t really bother him though, even when his shirt clung to his back.
Beside him, the boy fished out a packet of tissues and wordlessly offered one. Leo stared at him, not really sure what the tissues are for. The boy pointed on his forehead, as Leo nodded. He took one, wiped his forehead, folded the tissue neatly, and tucked it in the side pocket of his bag for disposal later.
The boy didn’t say anything. He just smiled again, like it was a huge honor for someone like Leo to accept what he offered.
—
The semester moved forward and Leo still didn’t know his name yet. He realized this one morning and felt a bit… passive. Isn’t it normal for seatmates to know each other’s names?
He would probably learn it eventually. That day seemed like it was today, when the latter turned to him like he just realized something fascinating.
“I just realized that I haven’t introduced myself yet. I’m Sangwon.” He extended his hand out to him.
Leo blinked at the hand for three full seconds. Didn’t people only do this when they sign contracts or any business stuff? Was he supposed to shake it? High-five it?
He firmly shook Sangwon’s hand like he just sealed a deal with him. “...Leo.”
Sangwon’s grin widened. “Leo… that’s unique. You’re not pure korean?”
“Half Australian.” Leo said, as Sangwon was obviously in awe. “That’s cool.”
“...It’s just my nationality.” Leo furrowed his brows in confusion.
Sangwon laughed; genuine and loud enough that a few students glanced over. “You’re unintentionally funny.”
The professor entered soon after, sparing Leo from thinking how to respond.
Even when passing by each other at the halls, Sangwon would wave at him. He always sat beside Leo like it was a natural law of physics. Leo never objected; mostly because he didn’t see a reason to.
Sangwon talked a lot. About his high school, his friends, the music club he wanted to join. He filled silences like it was his job. Leo often didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything at all. Somehow, Sangwon didn’t seem bothered.
By the end of the month, a rhythm formed. Sangwon sat beside him. He talked; Leo listened, or at least heard. Sometimes Leo responded with short answers. Sometimes he just tilted his head when he didn’t understand something, which Sangwon found endlessly funny for reasons Leo couldn’t grasp.
Outside class, their paths started crossing more. Leo often ate lunch in the cafeteria alone, picking whatever meal was served without much thought. One afternoon, as he set his tray down, Sangwon appeared like a summoned NPC and slid into the seat across from him.
“You eat here too?” Sangwon asked like Leo had invaded his space.
“I always eat here.”
“Oh. Huh.” Sangwon opened his juice box with unnecessary enthusiasm. “Then I’ll join you.”
Leo didn’t object. It didn’t seem like something that required objection.
It was a quiet afternoon that day. The cafeteria buzzed with the usual chatter, but at their table, only the clinking of utensils filled the air. Sangwon was mid-rant about a group project in another class when he suddenly paused.
“Hold still,” he said, reaching across the table.
Leo froze as Sangwon’s thumb brushed the corner of his mouth, wiping away a smear of sauce he hadn’t noticed. The contact was brief, but something inside Leo stuttered; like his brain lagged behind the moment.
He stayed still longer than necessary. Why? What was this? Embarrassment? Bashfulness? Discomfort?
He didn’t like not knowing.
Sangwon pulled his hand back with a grin. “You’re kind of hopeless, huh?”
Leo resumed eating. “I don’t think that’s accurate.”
Sangwon laughed again, shaking his head.
A few days later, during their Entrepreneurship lecture, the professor wrapped up the session with an announcement.
“For your first major project, you’ll be working in pairs. Seatmates are your partners. You’ll be preparing a business pitch. Think of it as if you’re presenting to real investors. You need a clear concept, a feasible plan, and a convincing presentation. Creativity and practicality both matter. The best pitches will be presented to a panel at the end of the semester.”
A wave of chatter filled the room. Sangwon immediately turned to Leo, eyes bright. “Looks like we’re partners.”
Leo tilted his head slightly, processing. It wasn’t surprising, just new. “Okay.”
Sangwon leaned forward on his desk, chin propped on his hand, studying Leo’s blank expression like he always did. “You really don’t react to anything, huh?”
Leo blinked. “I am reacting. I said okay.”
Sangwon snorted. “This is gonna be fun.”
Leo didn’t see what was fun about business projects, but he didn’t say that out loud. He just returned his gaze to the front, unaware that something small and steady had begun to form between them. Not a spark, more like the quiet hum of a radio just starting to tune into a new frequency.
“So… I guess I’ll just have the master document. What’s your full name?” Sangwon asks.
“Lee Leo.”
“Oh? Lee and Lee? That’s going to confuse people.” Sangwon chuckled.
Leo tilted his head, confused. “How so?”
“...Because we have the same surname?”
“...So?”
Sangwon laughed again, louder this time. “Nevermind. Let’s meet up in the library since class is about to end.”
They met properly after class in one of the quieter campus lounges, a long table between them. Leo opened his laptop, pulling up the document link that Sangwon sent him.
“So,” Leo started, “we need an idea that’s clear and feasible. Something practical.”
Sangwon leaned back in his chair, fingers laced behind his head. “Or something that surprises people.”
Leo looked at him flatly. “Surprising ideas usually aren’t feasible.”
“Feasible doesn’t have to mean boring,” Sangwon countered with a light shrug.
He cleared his throat. “We could do a delivery service. Simple, scalable.”
Sangwon tilted his head, considering. “Like food delivery? That’s… pretty common.”
“Because it works,” Leo said, as if that settled it.
Sangwon tapped the table thoughtfully. “What if it’s delivery, but… for something unexpected? Like, I don’t know… delivery for plants. People who buy potted plants online but don’t know how to transport them safely.”
Leo’s fingers froze over the keyboard. “...Plant delivery?”
“Yeah. Specialized. With packaging that keeps the plants healthy, and maybe optional soil checks. Like a little eco-startup.” His eyes lit up as he spoke, as if the idea was materializing in midair.
Leo tried to imagine it. Boxes with leaves sticking out. Couriers carrying ferns like newborn babies. It sounded weird. But… also oddly memorable.
He leaned back slightly. “Would anyone use that?”
Sangwon grinned. “You’d be surprised. My aunt nearly killed her Monstera moving it last month. If she’d had a service like this, she’d pay.”
Leo typed Plant delivery service — niche, eco-friendly, packaging solutions. He didn’t say he liked the idea. He wasn’t sure he did. But it had a shape he could work with.
“Okay,” Leo said finally. “We can do market research on potential demand. Target eco-friendly consumers. Logistics will need a cost structure.”
Sangwon watched him with mild amusement. “You really go straight into spreadsheets, huh?”
“Where else would I go?” Leo asked, genuinely confused.
That made Sangwon laugh again, not in a mocking way; more like he’d just witnessed something unexpectedly endearing.
—
They divided their tasks quickly. Leo would handle feasibility analysis, competitor research, and cost projections. Sangwon would focus on branding, pitch angles, and presentation concepts. It was a clean split—logical. But the way Sangwon approached his tasks was anything but typical.
Two days later, Leo opened their shared document and found slides titled:
Why Your Fern Deserves First Class Treatment
Plant Parenthood Is Real
Invest in Growth; Literally
He stared at the screen, expression blank. Is this a joke?
Then he scrolled down. The branding mockups were surprisingly sleek. Minimalist green accents. Clean typography. A logo that looked like a sprouting leaf wrapped in a box. It looked… good.
He sat back slowly. “Huh.”
Almost immediately, a notification popped up:
leeeeesangwon
hyung did u see our slides alr
Leo’s eyes squinted a bit at the way the younger one types.
leowsgd
Yeah. It’s a good baseline, at least.
Also can you type properly?
leeeeesangwon
wow ur no jam here as well
i dont want to :P
—
Their meetings became a quiet rhythm. Sangwon talked; Leo listened, occasionally asking blunt questions that made Sangwon rethink and refine his ideas. Sometimes, Leo said things that were unintentionally funny; like the time he asked, completely deadpan, “Do we get a discount if the plant dies in transit?” and Sangwon nearly choked on his coffee laughing.
Leo didn’t get why it was funny. It seemed like a logical policy question.
Sangwon’s energy filled the spaces Leo didn’t bother to occupy. He gestured when he talked, drawing invisible diagrams in the air. He smiled easily, sometimes too easily. And somehow, Leo didn’t mind it.
During one late afternoon session, the sun slanted through the library windows, painting the table gold. Leo was buried in logistics spreadsheets when Sangwon leaned over his laptop, upside down, peering at the numbers.
“You know,” Sangwon said, “for someone so quiet, you work like three people.”
Leo didn’t look up. “If no one else does it, it won’t get done.”
“Wow,” Sangwon said, dramatic. “That was… bleak.”
Leo frowned slightly. “It’s just true.”
Sangwon studied him for a moment, something softer flickering in his expression. Then he grinned again, switching gears. “Well, bleak or not, you’re efficient. We make a good team.”
Leo paused mid-typing. Do we? He supposed they did. The work was getting done faster than he’d expected, and Sangwon’s ideas had a strange way of fitting into his structure, like ivy wrapping around a trellis.
“Yeah,” Leo said finally. “I guess we do.”
—
As the presentation date grew closer, they started rehearsing their pitch. Leo focused on getting the timing right. Sangwon focused on making it sound alive. Watching Sangwon present was like watching a show; he had this ease with people, like the room bent toward him naturally.
Leo, on the other hand, preferred when the room forgot he existed.
“You don’t have to sound like a robot,” Sangwon said one evening, after Leo’s perfectly timed but utterly monotone run-through.
“I’m not a robot.” Leo said flatly.
Sangwon raised a brow. “Could’ve fooled me.”
Leo blinked at him. He wasn’t sure if he should be offended. “...I’m just focusing.”
“Try saying the line like you actually care about plants.” Sangwon teased.
Leo deadpanned, “I don’t care about plants.”
Sangwon burst out laughing again. “God, you’re unbelievable.”
Despite himself, Leo felt something tug faintly at his chest. Not quite amusement, but something adjacent. Warm.
—
The day of the presentation arrived quietly. Their team was called midway through the session. Leo’s palms were cold, not from fear; at least, that’s what he told himself, but from the unfamiliarity of standing in front of a crowd.
Sangwon opened the pitch with his characteristic ease. “Good afternoon, everyone. Tell me; when was the last time you struggled to move a plant without destroying it?”
A ripple of laughter.
Leo followed, presenting the market analysis and cost structure with calm precision. No embellishment, no dramatic flair. Just facts. But every time Sangwon jumped in with a metaphor or a playful quip, the room leaned forward again.
It shouldn’t have worked. But somehow, the combination of Sangwon’s creativity and Leo’s structured delivery balanced each other out.
When they finished, the panel nodded, impressed. One professor even said, “That’s one of the more memorable pitches we’ve seen.”
Leo didn’t smile, but he allowed himself a quiet exhale.
As they walked out of the room, Sangwon bumped his shoulder lightly. “Told you we make a good team.”
Leo glanced at him. The grin on Sangwon’s face was bright, unguarded.
“Yeah.” Leo said softly. “You did.”
For a fleeting second, Sangwon’s grin faltered into something gentler. But then it was back, and Leo wasn’t sure if he imagined it.
He didn’t overthink it. He never did.
—
That evening, Leo went to his apartment and immediately opened his laptop; logging in his account for his online therapy session scheduled. He waited for the interface to connect, and the face of his psychologist showed up.
“Hello, Mr. Lee. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” She said, as Leo only nodded.
“So… how has your college life been so far?”
Leo leaned back in his chair, hands folded. “...Okay? I recently had a pair presentation.”
“Oh? So you’re forced to socialize?”
“...If you put it that way, I guess I am.” Leo mumbled. “He’s a bit weird. Always in my space ever since the start of the semester.”
“That’s interesting. Any emotions that ring a bell? Like… frustration, happiness, or relief?”
Leo paused. “...Uncertain. He’s always smiling and quite verbal. When the conversation drags for too long I kind of question my own answers and I get this slight tension in the chest. Not sure what emotion it is.”
“...Slight tension in the chest? That’s a first. It’s good that you’re second guessing your answers though; it lessens your insensitivity, which is prevalent in people who have the same or similar condition as you.”
“You’re writing a lot today.” Leo notices.
“...It’s because you’re making a lot of progress.” She laughs, and closes her notebook. “See if you can hang out more with this person, yeah?”
Weirdly enough, Leo wasn’t that opposed to her statement.