Your favorite thing about math is that every problem has a definite answer, and if you reach an impasse, thinking long enough will give you a way through it. There is something so beautiful about being in control and knowing that you can resolve a problem leaving no loose ends.

Today you are in one of your statistics classes and, although you want to pay attention, the moving trees outside the window beside your desk are captivating. The way the leaves seem to shimmer as wind combs through their densely packed numbers reminds you of glitter and nighttime, with its twinkling lights and ethereal stars.

The wind stops and the trees lose their magic as you turn your head back to the professeur, soon realizing that the class is shuffling out of the lecture hall. The professeur is walking out as well, most likely to get lunch, and doesn’t seem to notice you are left behind as the door shuts on the room. You are alone now, until another makes his presence known by lightly tapping your skull with a textbook.

“You know, you’ll never graduate if you keep on daydreaming.”

His voice comes out smooth and it reminds you of the previous wind that continuously blew its way through the trees. But you like his voice more than the wind, so, maybe you should compare its quality to numbers, they are your favorite.

Woohyun seems to get the hint that you’re still in a daze when his comment is met with the dead-fish stare.

“Yah, speak up when I’m talking to you.” His face is expectant, but your words are not coming, lately Woohyun has had that effect on you.

Now you are thinking that instead of comparing his voice to wind or numbers, water seems more appropriate; his mere presence drowns you. Right now, it’s suffocating to the point that you don’t notice him shoving your belongings into your bag or that he grabs your hand, tugging you to stand.

“Aish, you haven’t even put your stuff away. If I wasn’t watching out you’d end up sleeping here. What would the janitor say?” Again there is no response and he drops your hand.

You’re trying, you really are. You want to say something smart back and start a pun war like old times. Instead, awkwardness ades and your cowardly voice stays dammed at the back of your throat.

Woohyun is disappointed as he notices your ajar mouth and begging eyes. He knows you’ve been wanting to say something to him recently, he knows that if you don’t have the perfect words to convey your thoughts then they won’t come out, but he misses your voice and he’s afraid that whatever is on your mind will never have perfect words. It’s a bit farfetched and dramatic to say you will never speak to him again, but that’s the impression he’s been receiving recently.

He’s quiet for a few minutes as his gentle gaze strays from you to the trees that are again shimmering.

You imagine that he is thinking the same thing you do when you look at the swaying leaves. You like to think he sees their pretty shimmer and is reminded of nighttime because that would put the pair of you on the same level. You like to think the both of you view the world in the same way.

A strange, warm, fluttering feeling overtakes your stomach, and as Woohyun glances over at you, he’s relieved to see a soft expression ease its way onto your visage.

“What are you smiling about?”

This breaks your trance and you shake your head, expression returning to one of quiet contemplation. “I-uh, nothing,” you say, grabbing your bag from his unsuspecting hand, “let’s go.”

You are on your way to weave through the rows when he grabs your wrist, stopping your tracks and turning you to face him. “Hey, you’ve been really quiet lately. What’s wrong?”

Words are on the tip of your tongue and seem to flow in waves through your mind. You haven’t had a legitimate conversation with him in weeks so it’s only natural, but the topic whirring through your thoughts, not so much. You want to talk about your feelings, your fears, his suffocating nature, how you don’t understand why your stomach drops when you see him or why his smile seems to replay in your mind.

Lowering your gaze you let silence overtake the scene again, but Woohyun won’t allow it this time and he tugs your wrist again to get your attention. “Come on, how long have we known each other? You can tell me.”

He doesn’t care if you hear the slight desperation in his voice, and tries to catch your eye again by crouching down to block your intense stare at the floor. Making eye contact creates a bubble of happiness in your gut that bursts and threads through your skin, causing a voracious blush to claim your pallid cheeks.

There’s a blank stare on his face for awhile and if a pin were to drop the noise would resonate loudly throughout the room. A click goes off in his head and a knowing smile spreads across his lips. It’s one of his victorious smiles and you want to smack it off his face as you look away again, trying to tug your wrist free.

“You like me.” It’s almost a teasing tone, almost, but you can hear the foundation of joy it cloaks.

“You like ME.” He repeats, this time louder with a distinct rise in the end as he raises himself from the floor, tugging your grasped hand above his head so both of your bodies are held close by entangled fingers.

Woohyun uses his free hand to cup your chin and angle it towards his face. All you can see, all you can smell, is him.

“You like me.” this time it’s a whisper, not as though the proclamation is a secret but as though it is a cherished revelation, one that should not be heard by unworthy ears.

Eventually, your blush subsides as you stand there with him still awkwardly holding your hand up. You pull it down to rest on his shoulder as his now free hand slides to place itself on the small of your back, the other remaining on your chin.

You gaze at him through your lashes and glance to the side for a bit, unable to move your head away; catching his eyes once again, you see nothing but adoration and awe as he repeats his sentence and you casually respond, “Not really,” the hand on your chin easing your lips to his own.

The pressure is comforting and you’re the first to pull away only to be stopped, an inch of space between you. You can see his hooded eyes looking down at your lips and then up at your own eyes as his fluid voice says, “It’s okay, I don’t like you either.”

There’s a quick jerk and your ears pulse, listening to the quiet confession coming from the kiss. This feeling suddenly seems more assured than numbers ever were.

I love you too.

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a/n: This one is much shorter. Is that approved?