When he pondered profoundly upon the question he himself posed that somewhat vexed him, Jongdae realized he did not fall in love with the beautiful things.
Not in the amicable smiles or the hearty laughter, not in the embarrassing way Joonmyeon danced or the way his eyes creased into crescents when he uttered his name with so much adoration.
No, he fell in love with the tears that trickled down marble cheeks in rivulets, in the searing blood plummeting in droplets against the flooring, in the human that was falling apart before his eyes, second by second, breath by breath. Flawed, divoted, destroyed, immaculately disassembled, no longer a human but a walking carcass.
He fell in love with the Joonmyeon that cried against his shoulder, that fell asleep breathing with heavy chest, with the person he watched getting hurt day by day, more and more. He fell in love with Joonmyeon who whispered his name in sleep, curled up like an infant. Pitiful.
He fell in love with the Student Body President who rolled down his sleeves and fastened them with leather bracelets to hide his wrists from the sight of curious bystanders, in the tear stained lips he kissed to alleviate the pain, in the eyelashes that fluttered with every saddened blink. He fell in love with the man behind the impeccable façade of behaved decorum and polite manners – in the walking carcass with viviparous daisies sprouting through his lungs.