Chapter Text
The forest — a place where people go to heal their souls, to breathe, to listen to the rustling leaves and the birds’ gentle songs. It is a sanctuary where calmness reigns, where the wind carries whispers of peace and the sunlight filters through the branches like a quiet blessing.
Ironically, the man named Forest was anything but calm.
Mr. Forest was known among the teachers of Sacred Hearts Primary as the strict but reliable P.E. instructor. His voice could silence a classroom in seconds, his glare alone could make a student confess a crime they didn’t even commit. Yet beneath that stern exterior was a man who cherished discipline because he feared chaos — both in others and within himself.
One morning, however, chaos came to him in the strangest form.
When he woke up, everything seemed ordinary at first. The usual morning sunlight, the sound of cars outside his apartment, the smell of coffee brewing in the kitchen. Until his fingers brushed against a student’s homework file, and a voice — one that wasn’t his — echoed in his head.
‘I hope he won’t notice I didn’t do the homework yesterday…’
He froze. His heart thudded in disbelief. He looked around, but no one was there. The voice wasn’t from outside — it came from inside his head. He tried to shake it off as lack of sleep, but the next time he passed Mr. Jiang in the hallway and the shoulder accidentally brushed his —
‘Ugh, I still have three more classes before lunch…’
That was when the panic truly set in.
For a whole day, Mr. Forest walked around like a man possessed. He tested everything: touching his desk, his pen, a student’s arm, even the door handle — only to confirm the horrifying truth. He could hear people’s thoughts. Not all the time, thankfully — only when he touched someone or stood too close. But it was enough to turn his peaceful world upside down.
At 32 years old, this was not how he imagined his life would go. He wasn’t some comic-book hero or fantasy protagonist; he was just a tired teacher trying to make ends meet. “Why me?” he muttered to himself countless times that week. “Why now?”
Eventually, he learned to live with it — or so he told himself. It had its uses, after all. He could instantly tell when a student was lying about their missing homework or pretending to be sick during P.E. He could detect who was gossiping about him in the teachers’ lounge (spoiler: most of them). It even made classroom discipline easier.
But it also came with headaches — literal and emotional ones. Sometimes, during quiet moments, all he wanted was peace, but instead his head would be filled with the mental noise of people’s anxieties, petty crushes, and financial worries. Once, he even caught a colleague panicking internally about their lost wallet and almost blurted out where it was hidden before stopping himself.
Still, despite the annoyance, it gave his monotonous routine an odd sort of excitement. Life had been dull lately, and at least this strange power brought a little color to his days.
That is — until that day.
The day he collided with a young teacher in the corridor. The new hire from Class 1A — Mr. Sean Yang.
The impact wasn’t much. Just a stumble, a few dropped papers, and the polite chaos of two teachers apologizing at once. But when Mr. Forest’s hand accidentally brushed Sean’s wrist, the world went utterly silent — except for a voice, soft and trembling, echoing in his mind:
‘OMG OMG OMG HE WAS SO CLOSE JUST NOW!! He smells nice today… oh no, why does he have to look this good up close—'
The voice in his head was so loud and frantic that Mr. Forest almost jumped back. His entire body froze mid-motion, eyes widening in disbelief as the words kept echoing, overlapping with the sound of fluttering papers and hurried footsteps.
For the first time since he’d gained this strange ability, he genuinely wished he couldn’t hear a thing.
“Mr. Forest? Are you alright? Did you hurt anywhere?”
The voice that came from outside — the real one — was calm and full of concern. When Forest blinked, he found himself staring straight into the gentle eyes of the young teacher, Mr. Sean Yang. His hands were slightly trembling as he helped pick up the scattered papers, yet his face remained composed, the picture of professionalism.
How ironic, Forest thought. His mind was screaming like a panicked teenager, yet his expression was pure serenity.
Forest, on the other hand, was anything but serene. He could still hear it, that vivid inner voice replaying over and over — “He smells so nice… He looks so good…” — and it made his ears burn. His usual stoic face twitched, betraying his flustered state for the briefest second.
He cleared his throat, stepping back quickly as if distance could drown out the thoughts buzzing in his mind. “Ah— sorry,” he said stiffly. “I just… remembered something.”
Sean blinked, visibly confused but too polite to question him. “O-oh, um… alright then. Please be careful next time.”
Without another word, Forest gave a curt nod and practically escaped down the corridor. He didn’t stop until he reached the teacher’s restroom.
Inside, he leaned against the sink, gripping its edge as if to steady his own heartbeat. The cold water splashed over his face, again and again, until droplets dripped down his collar and blurred the reflection staring back at him from the mirror.
“This can’t be happening…” he muttered under his breath. “There’s no way.”
He looked at his own reflection — a man of thirty-two, tired eyes, faint lines of age and stress at the corners. There was no way a young teacher like Sean — kind, gentle, adored by everyone — would have those kinds of thoughts about him.
“Nah,” he whispered, shaking his head as though the denial could chase away what he’d heard. “He’s just friendly. That’s all. I must’ve misheard.”
Unfortunately, it was, in fact, not just friendliness.
No matter how much Mr. Forest tried to convince himself otherwise, the more he observed Sean, the clearer it became. The stolen glances, the shy smiles, the faint blush whenever their eyes met — all of them aligned too perfectly with the flustered thoughts he’d once overheard.
Still, he refused to acknowledge it. For weeks, he pretended that day never happened. Whenever he saw Sean in the teachers’ lounge or at the morning assembly, he made sure to keep a polite distance — careful not to brush against him, not to let their shoulders touch, not even to pass papers directly. If Sean reached for something, Forest would step back. If they crossed paths in the corridor, he’d conveniently find a reason to turn the other way.
It wasn’t that he disliked Sean. Far from it. It was because the younger teacher’s thoughts — that one moment of pure, unguarded affection — had shaken something inside him that he didn’t dare to name.
Weeks passed like that.
Then came the school’s gotong-royong day. By late afternoon, most of the students and teachers had already gone home. The campus, once filled with chatter and laughter, had grown quiet — only the faint hum of ceiling fans and the scent of detergent lingering in the air.
Mr. Forest, as the one assigned to logistics, stayed behind to check inventory. He methodically went down his list: cleaning tools, paint cans, extension cords, brooms, dustpans, all properly stored. His pen moved in neat, deliberate strokes as he ticked off each item on the clipboard.
He was so absorbed in his task that he didn’t notice the door creak open until a soft voice spoke from behind him.
“Ah, Mr. Forest.”
He paused mid-tick. The voice was unmistakable.
Taking a deep breath, he exhaled slowly before turning around. “Mr. Sean,” he greeted, his tone even but his heart doing the opposite. “Is there something you need?”
Sean stood by the doorway, the glow of the setting sun spilling behind him, turning the edges of his brown hair golden. “Nothing, actually. I just saw the storeroom light was still on from outside, so I came to switch it off. I didn’t know you were still here.”
Forest offered a small, polite smile. “Well, lucky me. If you hadn’t checked, I might’ve been locked in here for the night.”
Sean chuckled softly at that, stepping further inside. “Guess it’s a good thing I came by, then.” His gaze drifted to the clipboard in Forest’s hand. “Still a lot left to check?”
Forest sighed, flipping the page. “Not much. Class 4B forgot to return their cleaning kit earlier, so I had to wait for them to send it back. Other than that, I just need to make sure everything’s in order before I lock up.”
Sean nodded, his expression thoughtful. Then, without hesitation, he set his bag down by the door. “I’ll help you.”
“You don’t have to,” Forest replied automatically, though a small part of him — the part that wasn’t ready for more inner monologues — wanted to protest for entirely different reasons.
Sean just smiled. “It’s fine. You’re the only one still here, and it’s getting late. Two pairs of hands will finish faster than one, right?”
Before Forest could respond, Sean had already rolled up his sleeves and walked toward the nearest shelf, reaching for a stack of unused boxes.
The older teacher stood there for a moment, silently weighing his options. He could refuse and risk sounding rude — or accept, and risk hearing another round of heart-fluttering thoughts that he wasn’t ready for.
He sighed inwardly.
Perhaps, he thought, if he just didn’t touch him, everything would be fine
Yeah, right. He forgot one crucial thing — that despite Sacred Hearts being a large and modern school, the storage room was incredibly small. Or maybe, he told himself, it was just his nerves making it feel that way. Yes, that had to be it.
Still, as the two men worked side by side, it became impossible to ignore how close they were. Every time Sean leaned in to check the clipboard, their shoulders brushed; every time Forest turned, his arm grazed the younger man’s sleeve. The air felt heavier than usual — filled with the faint scent of detergent, old wood, and something warmer he tried not to identify.
And then, inevitably, it happened again.
Sean leaned closer, peering at the list in Forest’s hands. Their elbows touched — barely, just a brush — but that was all it took for the floodgate to open.
“Mr. Forest always works so hard… but people don’t see how much he does for everyone. He never complains, never stops doing his best. Sigh, but this is why I like—”
“Ah— Mr. Sean!” Forest suddenly blurted, his voice louder than intended. The sound bounced off the narrow walls. “I think this is the last one!”
Sean blinked, startled. “Huh? Oh— oh, really?”
“Yes! We can finally go home.” He grabbed the nearest box, pretending to check it while desperately trying to drown out the echo still playing in his head. “Oh, what time is it now? Six p.m. already?”
Sean, slightly confused by the sudden change in topic, looked down at his watch. “It’s… six fifteen, actually.”
Forest let out a relieved laugh that sounded more strained than casual. “Late already. My apologies, Mr. Sean, for keeping you this long.” He turned away quickly, hoping the distance would silence the younger teacher’s thoughts — though a part of him, annoyingly, already missed the sound of them.
They exited the storeroom together, the corridor outside dim and empty. As Forest locked the door behind him, Sean’s voice broke the silence.
“Mr. Forest,” he began hesitantly, “since it’s already late… how about we grab dinner together?”
The question itself wasn’t surprising. What was surprising were the thoughts that came right after — an entire chorus of panic and pleading tumbling into Forest’s head like a storm.
‘DINNER AT SIX?? ARE YOU AN IDIOT, SEAN YANG??’
‘Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes—'
‘Wait! He must be tired. I should let him rest… but I really want to spend more time with him…’
‘His hair’s messy again, but it looks so soft. Can I touch it? No, Sean, don’t you dare—'
Forest almost dropped his keys. The sheer volume of it — all those thoughts, tripping over each other in nervous chaos — was both hilarious and strangely endearing.
He glanced sideways at Sean, who stood there smiling so politely, hands clasped, looking like the very image of calm composure.
How strange, Forest thought. Humans really were puzzles. Some looked gentle but thought wickedly. Others looked confident but doubted themselves endlessly. And Sean Yang — well, Sean was simply a category of his own.
This man’s outer gentleness hid an overactive mind that never stopped running in circles. It fascinated Forest to no end. How could one person think so many things at once? He could barely keep up, often mixing up Sean’s words with his thoughts — a dangerous thing, especially when the thoughts involved wanting to touch his hair.
As Sean waited expectantly for an answer, Forest cleared his throat, torn between amusement and disbelief. Part of Forest wanted to refuse, to give the safe and professional answer: “Maybe next time.” But as he stood there watching Sean subtly fidget with his sleeves, mentally scolding himself for even asking, something in Forest softened. He could almost feel the young man’s nervousness vibrating through the air.
‘You can do it, Sean. It’s just dinner. Just dinner. Why does this feel like a confession—'
A quiet sigh escaped Forest before he even realized it. How could he possibly turn him down now?
“…Yeah, sure,” he said finally, his voice gentler than he intended. “My treat—since you helped me out today.”
For a second, Sean just blinked at him, as if his brain short-circuited. Then, like a light switch flicked on, his entire face brightened—eyes wide, lips curling into the most genuine smile Forest had seen all week.
“Really?!” he blurted, then immediately toned it down, cheeks pink. “Ah, I mean—thank you, Mr. Forest. I’ll… I’ll make sure to treat you next time.”
The words were simple enough, but inside Sean’s head, there was a burst of triumphant energy loud enough to make Forest nearly choke on his own breath.
‘Oh my god, did I just suggest a next date?! Smooth, Sean. Smooth! That sounded totally natural, right? Right?!’
Forest had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing out loud. His expression stayed perfectly composed, but the corners of his lips twitched in silent amusement. The younger teacher’s joy was so unfiltered it felt contagious.
If Sean noticed, he didn’t show it—too busy glowing from what he clearly believed was a moment of pure genius. The younger teacher practically radiated happiness, unaware that the older one was struggling to keep a straight face beside him.
As they walked down the empty corridor side by side, Forest found the tension in his chest easing for the first time that day. The usual weight of grading papers, maintaining discipline, dealing with misbehaving students—all of it seemed to fade a little in the presence of Sean’s soft chatter.
It wasn’t often that someone genuinely wanted to spend time with him. Most colleagues saw him as intimidating or too serious; students respected him, but from a cautious distance. Sean, however, looked at him differently—not as the “strict PE teacher,” but simply as him.
And that simple thought—though he tried to ignore it—warmed something deep inside.
Maybe dinner wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.