Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The air smelt of cheap weed, expensive booze, and sweat. A horrid combination, the offensive scent only existed in one god forsaken place- frat parties. The colorful strobe lights illuminated only in quickly flashing colors, inspiring conspicuous make outs in corners where faces were hard to see in the shadows. The blaring music covered up any possibly suspicious noises, the booming of the bass synching with any headboards knocking against the wall, absorbing the sound into the shaking loudspeakers. People were packed in close enough that it was hard to tell who was dancing and who was dry-humping each other in the middle of the living room. If you wanted a place to hook up without anyone knowing, a frat party was the number one place to do it, and frat boys were the number one people to do it with. 

Mingyu liked to pretend it didn’t get to his head, but it was hard ignore something so obvious . Mingyu was the bell of the ball when it came to these situations. Handsome, rich, and the star of their university’s basketball team, he had never hit on someone and been rejected. Every wink and brush of his hand was met with blushing faces and fingers pulling him in. It was hard to even pretend to endorse humility when Mingyu spent most of his life fucking anyone and everyone that he wanted to. It wasn’t like it was a secret, either. Mingyu was a good lay, he knew that. It was part of the reason he was so sought after. If Kim Mingyu came up and flirted with you, you dragged him to the nearest room with a door and got on your knees. He would make sure to give you a good time, a night that you won’t forget. Ergo, people had no reason to reject him. It didn’t matter how much his family had instilled selflessness and a lack of ego in him growing up- pulling whoever you want, whenever you want gets to a guy. Eventually, it gets hard to pretend like you don’t know that you’re number one. 

“There’s no way, Mingyu. Everyone’s been rejected before!” Seungcheol laughed. Mingyu was standing at the edge of the living room with a few of his frat brothers, engaged in a conversation where he had just admitted to his perpetual sex-success. 

“Not me,” Mingyu replied, shaking his head. “Not once. Hell, no one has even been unsure about it! I tilt my head a little their way and they’re undressing already.”

“Jesus Christ, you douchebag,”  Juyeon smiled. “I want to hate you but all I feel is jealousy.”

Mingyu shrugged. “It’s not all that great, you know.” He waved away the chorus of disagreement from his frat brothers. “I’m serious. I don’t even have to try anymore. I’m bored and it’s too easy. I miss the chase; I miss the difficulty. I don’t even get gratification from it anymore.”

“‘Don’t get gratification’ my ass, Mingyu. I still see that smile on your face when some girl does the walk-of-shame from your room. Pretty sure an abundance of orgasms doesn’t lead to a lack of gratification, ” Johnny mumbled. 

“It’s not like that,” Mingyu whined. “Obviously the sex is still good, but it’s different. I kind of miss having to try, even a little bit.”

“You really think that you could pull anyone here, barely even trying?” Juyeon asked.

Mingyu nodded, sipping his drink slowly. 

“Alright, I bet that you can’t,” Juyeon smiled. 

“I’ll get in on that,” Johnny added. “How much?”

Juyeon hummed. “Five hundred big ones. If I pick out a person and Mingyu can get in their pants, I’ll give him five hundred dollars. If he can't, he pays me the money."

Mingyu raised his eyebrows. “Seriously? Oh, you are going to regret this, asshole. You’ll be out a shit-ton of money before you even know it.”

“We’ll see about that,” Seungcheol laughed. “I’m in too. Who’re you picking, Juyeon?”

Juyeon looked around, eyes carefully combing through the crowd. He was studying so in depth that Mingyu was just about to make fun of him. Then, Juyeon laughed. He turned back to Mingyu, a wicked smile on his face. 

“Xu Minghao. If you sleep with Minghao, I’ll pay up.”

Johnny whistled low. “Damn, Juyeon.” 

Mingyu raised his eyebrows, feeling out of the loop. “Wait, who is Xu Minghao?”

All three frat brothers laughed. Mingyu was starting to feel less confident by the minute. Juyeon outstretched his arm, long finger pointing at someone in the crowd. “That’s Xu Minghao.”

Mingyu trailed his eyes to where Juyeon was gesturing. When he got there, he froze. At the end of Juyeon’s finger was, well, not who Mingyu was expecting, to say the least. For one, Xu Minghao was a guy. Mingyu was never entirely sure whether his frat brothers were homophobic or not- it was fairly hard to tell, as they tended to call each other faggots and compliment each other's dicks in the same breath. Mingyu, contrary to the frat boy archetype, had always known he was bisexual. He’d slept with more than one guy since he’d come to college, but he tended to keep those secret because he was unsure of how the people around him would react. It was easier to pretend to be a stupid, meathead, heterosexual jock than deal with people’s opinions about him liking guys as much as he did girls. Minghao, however, seemed to be yanking at the bisexual part of Mingyu that he liked to keep hidden, pulling it to the front of his mind and showing in bright red, blaring lights ‘YOU LIKE MEN.’ He was like teenage-Mingyu’s wet dreams come to life. His black hair was fashioned into an unfairly attractive mullet, one that would likely look dumb on anyone else but made him look like a model from a fashion magazine. His face was pretty. His eyes were big and sparkling, even in the dark of the room. His lips looked full and plump, practically calling Mingyu’s name with the way he wanted nothing more than to press his own lips against Minghao’s. His other features were small, and his ears were pointed at the tips like a fairy. In fact, he looked very fairy-like in general, with his stunning but soft face and body proportions that had Mingyu drooling. He was wearing loosely-fitting black cargo pants and combat boots that Mingyu kind of wanted to lick. The pants were cinched tightly with a belt at the waist, the black leather bomber jacket doing nothing to cover up how small his waist was in his tight black turtleneck. Several silver chains hung around his neck, silver earrings lining his ears, silver rings donning his fingers, a pair of silver-rimmed glasses on his face. The only pop of color in his outfit were bracelets- thin, braided, multi-colored thread bracelets on his wrists. He looked entirely uninterested in the party, staring down at his phone and not even looking up to drink out of the red Solo cup in his other hand.

“How the fuck have I never seen him around here before?” Mingyu muttered. He felt a little angry that he hadn’t had the chance to talk to Minghao in the past, maybe get in his pants a little earlier. He turned back to his group of friends. 

“Why him? I’ve never seen him in my life.”

“Minghao is an outcast art student who, I’m pretty sure, would never even talk to you, much less sleep with you. Plus, he really hates frat boys.”

Mingyu snorted. “Why is he even here then? It’s our party.”

“His friends always drag him here,” Seungcheol informed him. “Who knows why. He would clearly rather be at home, but they always make him come with. Kind of stupid, if you ask me.”

Mingyu couldn’t help the smile that began making its way onto his face. “That’s it? You just chose the biggest outcast? Come on, make this a little more difficult. He’d probably drool at the chance to sleep with me. He probably fingers himself at night dreaming of my dick.”

“Slow down there, cowboy,” Johnny laughed. “Clearly, you don’t know anything about him.”

“What is there to know?”

“Minghao’s freshman year, he slept with this senior over at Alpha Chi, some guy named Junho. They wanted to keep it on the down-low but Junho got too excited and ended up telling everyone about Minghao. He bragged about how this trans guy was the best lay he’d ever had, that he gave insane head, that he had the nicest pussy and all. Most of the school hadn’t even known Minghao was transgender. He got outed to the entire damn population. Not just that, but for the rest of the year, people kept trying to get with Minghao, asking him if he was really that good in bed and if Junho was telling the truth. Junho’s big mouth got Minghao outed and constantly sexually harassed. Since then, Minghao hasn’t slept with anyone. He barely interacts with people outside of his little friend group. And, he fucking hates frat boys with a burning passion. So, good luck with that, Mingyu. Go convince Minghao to get in your bed!”

Mingyu swallowed. He shot another look at Minghao. On one hand, Mingyu could have the chance to sleep with one of the hottest guys he’s ever seen and get five hundred dollars. On the other hand, this pretty boy with a vendetta against frats could massively reject him, publicly humiliating him and leaving him to only imagine what it would be like to sleep with Minghao. To Mingyu, the positives outweighed the negatives. Plus, Mingyu was fairly confident that if he pulled out all the stops, Minghao would forget all about his shitty past and be under Mingyu before he even knew it. 

Mingyu knocked back his drink. The alcohol burned down his throat, but it helped to further boost his convictions about his skills. He shot Juyeon a wink. “Next time you see me, I’ll be showing Minghao to the door in the morning.”

With that, Mingyu made his way over to his next victim, his frat brothers laughing and whistling behind him. 

Up close, Minghao was even more ethereal and out of place. Someone like him didn’t belong in a stain-covered frat house. He didn’t acknowledge Mingyu’s approach, eyes still locked on his phone screen. Mingyu watched his thumb scroll aimlessly, taking note of his slender fingers and the fact that his nails were painted a deep black, chipped in some places. 

Mingyu cleared his throat, going for the most basic line to start a conversation. “Hey, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around here before. I’m Mingyu.”

Minghao lazily looked up. His eyes locked with Mingyu’s. Even in the dark, Mingyu could see the apathy in them. He trailed his eyes up and down Mingyu’s body. “No thanks,” he said, taking a sip of his drink and looking back down. 

Mingyu couldn’t help the way his eye twitched. He looked around a bit before trying again. “What’s your major? Mine is-” 

“I think my friend is calling for me,” Minghao interrupts, deadpan. Mingyu stared at him in disbelief. The only thing he could hear was the ear-bleeding rap music of the frat president’s party playlist. In fact, Mingyu was sure that it was all anyone could hear. 

“I don’t hear anything?” He pointed out through gritted teeth. 

Minghao just hummed. He shoved his cup into Mingyu’s chest, who grabbed it without thinking. Some of the drink spilled onto his shirt. “Nice to meet you, Dingo.”

“It’s Mingyu,” he called, exasperated and shocked, but Minghao was already walking away. His hips swayed when he moved. Mingyu was staring at his ass without even realizing it. 

Mingyu’s shoulders dropped. He spun toward his friends who were staring at him and trying their best to stifle their laughter. They weren’t very good at it. He sulked his way back to the group, Minghao’s cup still in his hands. 

“I think that went fantastic, from what I could see,” Seungcheol snorted. 

“Kim ‘I can get anyone to sleep with me’ Mingyu does it again, boys and girls!” Juyeon shouted, raising his drink into the air like a celebration. 

“Fuck off,” Mingyu pouted. “He wouldn’t even let me speak.”

“We warned you,” Johnny pointed out. “His hostility toward people like you runs deep, Gyu.”

“It’s alright,” Juyeon grinned, patting Mingyu on the shoulder. “Everyone strikes out sometimes.”

Mingyu brushed off Juyeon’s hand. “No way, man. Not me. Give me one month.”

Juyeon raised his eyebrows. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. If you let me lay down the charm for a month, I swear to god I’ll have him screaming my name.”

His friends snorted. Juyeon held out his hand for Mingyu to shake. “Fine. If you seriously get Xu Minghao to sleep with you in a month, you win.”

Mingyu shook it. “Fucking deal,” he smirked, then sucked down the rest of Minghao’s drink. 

o_o

Mingyu may have gotten ahead of himself. Now, it wasn’t that he doubted his abilities- he sincerely swore that if he could just talk to Minghao, the younger boy would be swooning. The problem was talking to Minghao. They were in completely different majors (Minghao’s being art and Mingyu’s being sports medicine) that resided on completely different sides of campus with not one class together. Mingyu lived in the nice frat houses while Minghao lived in the cheap dorms. Mingyu spent most of his free time in gyms and courts whereas Minghao was found in one of the art studios. None of his friends would tell him anything, either. It had to be all on his own, they said, or it didn’t count. Which led Mingyu to where he was right now, wandering around the art building, hoping to bump into Minghao. 

He knew it wasn’t the smartest plan, but it was the best he could do right now. He just prayed to the gods above to take pity on him. Depending on divine intervention wasn’t always the solution, but it was quite good for desperation. Mingyu stumbled his way around the hallways, eventually somehow ending up in a gallery. Multiple of the student’s artworks were displayed on the walls and tables. Mingyu looked around, forgetting about his initial mission for a minute and just enjoying the canvases. Mingyu had always been fond of art. On more than one occasion, he found a special connection to a work, but he had never explored that any furhter. After all, Mingyu was a paradigm for athletes. Basketball players focused on lifting weights, on sweating onto hardwood floors, on watching NBA matches with pretty girls that didn’t understand basketball, on working through hangovers before big games, not going to art galleries or becoming invested in brush strokes and stunning colors. But now, alone in the quiet art block, Mingyu let his eyes travel over the different paintings, sculptures, collages, and photographs, reading the descriptions next to them. He ended up at the end of the room, at the largest concentration of art. Mingyu leaned in to read the words next to the paintings but paused. The canvas pulled at him, at something deep inside of him. He felt frozen, eyes locked and refusing to move past it. A combination of dark reds, greys, and blacks, the painting displayed nothing and everything all at once. Mingyu’s throat felt a little constricted. The painting was making him feel something, and Mingyu couldn’t tell if he enjoyed it or not. 

A throat was cleared behind him. Mingyu spun around, scratching his neck, a little embarrassed at being caught. “Sorry, I-”

He paused. Standing in front of him was none other than Xu Minghao, holding a large canvas in his arms and leveling Mingyu with an unamused stare.

He had swapped his silver-rimmed glasses out for clear ones. He was wearing baggy black jeans with chains attached, a large black T-shirt whose band logo was hidden behind the canvas, and a white button-down underneath with the same insane amount of silver jewelry he had before. His hair was fluffier today than it had been at the party, little curls that fell into his black-lined eyes. Mingyu felt his mouth dry up a bit, noticing the soft brown eye shadow, contrasting black eyeliner, and sparkles on his lips. Minghao was wearing makeup. There was a possibility that he had been wearing some at the party, but it was too dark for Mingyu to see for sure. Now, with the fluorescent lights of the school, Mingyu’s knees felt weak. He wanted, so badly, to see Minghao with his makeup ruined, eyeliner and lipgloss smeared. 

“Are you looking for something?” Minghao asked after a beat of silence. 

“Someone, more like.” Mingyu replied, putting on his flirtiest smile. 

Minghao seemed unfazed. “I feel like you’re in the wrong place.”

“Oh, I’m in the right place. Your arrival confirmed that.”

“You were looking for me?” 

Mingyu nodded, a little too excited. 

Minghao didn’t even attempt to hide the confusion on his face. “Why?”

“We met at the party!”

Minghao scoffed, then moved around Mingyu toward the exhibit behind him. “I would hardly call that meeting, Mingyu. We exchanged, what, five words?”

Mingyu tried to not let his heart flutter. “You remembered my name,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. 

Minghao didn’t respond, choosing instead to set the canvas on some empty nails in the wall. He messed with it a few times to make sure it was straight. 

“Wait, is this your stuff?” He asked in amazement. Minghao’s exhibit had, by far, the most artworks in the room. Mingyu’s eyes flitted around to the rest of Minghao’s paintings. They weren’t just insanely impressive, but they all gave Mingyu that weird feeling in his chest, that pulling, grasping in his stomach. 

Minghao turned around, crossing his arms. There was a daring look on his face. “Yes, it is. Do you have a problem?”

Clearly, the younger thought that Mingyu was about to make fun of him. Mingyu felt a little nauseous thinking about how often Minghao must have bad experiences with frat boys or jocks to be this defensive. 

He waved his hands around. “No, of course not. I like it, actually. A lot.” He tried not to stutter, but it was hard when Minghao was staring at him. 

Minghao scoffed, rolling his eyes. “What do you know about art? You probably think Leonardo DiCaprio is a painter.”

Mingyu gasped, faux offended. “How dare you. I know a lot about art, actually. I am an avid art connoisseur. I am an art expert. I’m an art fan. An art fanatic, I might even say.”

“Stop saying the word art.”

Mingyu brushed him off. “Never thought you’d be the one to stereotype. I feel like you’ve placed me in a box. I’m hurt.”

Minghao’s glare was more cute than it was scary. “Fine.” He turned toward his works, then pointed at one a few feet away on the wall. “That painting. What does it mean?”

Mingyu faltered. The painting was abstract, a splatter of dark colors. He felt his face growing hot. “I don’t know.” 

Minghao shot him a look. “You said you were an art expert. Tell me about that one.”

“It’s your painting!” Mingyu whined. “What if I’m wrong?”

The corners of Minghao’s mouth turned up. Mingyu felt his heart skip a beat. “There is no ‘wrong,’ it’s art. Just say what you’re thinking.”

Mingyu, wanting to see more of Minghao’s smile, looked back at the painting. This one, for some reason, made Mingyu mad. He felt an urge to yell or hit something. Mingyu felt a little off-balance, so unused to exploring art in this way and feeling it this deep. 

“It looks angry, I guess? I don’t know.”

“Expand.”

Mingyu ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. “It looks angry,” He said, finitely. “There's this rage to it, this embedded violence. The colors and the pattern, they look like they were chosen in fury. It pisses me off, makes me feel like I’m betrayed, like I want to get back at someone. And if I unfocus my eyes, just a little, I can see the outline of hands, I think. They’re reaching out and grabbing, or pulling, maybe. And they make me even more mad.”

Minghao is silent for a second. Then, another. Then, longer. Mingyu knew his ears were bright red with embarrassment. The longer Minghao was quiet, the more Mingyu felt like an idiot. He turned toward the artist. When they looked at each other, Mingyu felt himself begin to smile, lips curling upward, because Minghao was definitely smiling. Not in a bad way, not in a teasing way. He was biting his bottom lip, attempting to stave it off, but Mingyu could see the soft grin on his lips and the way his eyes held a bit of mirth, rather than their typical annoyance. 

“Oh,” Minghao finally said, voice mellow. 

“Was I right?” Mingyu asks, his confidence picking up. 

Minghao breaks their eye contact, looking away. “There is no right,” he replies, voice low. 

Mingyu takes a step toward him. Then another until they’re no longer so far apart. “But was I?”

Minghao looks up at him. An emotion that Mingyu can’t place flashes across his face. It gives Mingyu his last push of confidence. He brushes a piece of hair out of Minghao’s face, his finger trailing across the artist’s forehead. Minghao’s soft hair tickled his finger. 

“I was, right?” He asked. His finger trailed down, ran its way along Minghao’s adorably pointed ears, covered in silver hoops and diamonds. He pulls lightly at the earring on his lobe. 

Minghao grabs his wrist, pulling it away from his face and shoves it into Mingyu’s chest. His eyes are wide and honest. His dainty fingers linger where they grasp Mingyu’s arm, but then he shoves harder and yanks himself back. 

“I’ve got to go,” he chokes out. Then, Minghao turns and runs away. Literally, runs. When he disappears around the corner, Mingyu’s smile still hadn’t left his face and his wrist burns where Minghao’s fingers had been wrapped. 

He turned around to study the paintings once again. In one, a splatter of green and white, he sees the shape of Minghao’s features. In another, he feels the look that Minghao had in his big, sparkling eyes when he looked up at Mingyu. Art was subjective, and right now, Mingyu saw exactly what he wanted to see in every work- pieces of Minghao. 

Mingyu couldn’t forget about their interaction for the next few hours. Then, the next few days. Unfortunately, it seemed like his luck with divine intervention had run out, because that was also the last time he saw Minghao. It didn’t matter how much he journeyed in and around the art buildings, Minghao was nowhere to be found. Three days without even a glance of the younger, Mingyu searched for help in mortal places. Namely, his very helpful roommate, Chwe Vernon. 

“Hey, you know that guy, Minghao?” Mingyu asked, trying his best to be subtle. He was sitting on his bed while Vernon resided at the desk, typing away on some assignment. 

“The one you’re trying to fuck?” Vernon replied without looking up. Mingyu winced. Clearly, word spread fast within their frat. Thankfully, word tended to stay in their frat, though, so the chances of Minghao finding out weren’t too high. 

He coughed. “Yeah, that one. Do you know any of his friends? The ones he comes to the parties with?”

Vernon shrugged, turning around in his chair and stretching. “Yeah. They’re around pretty often, and I have a few classes with some of ‘em.”

Mingyu perked up like a puppy dog. He and Vernon were in similar majors, so if he had classes with them then maybe Mingyu did too. “Who is it?”

“Uh, Wen Junhui, Jeon Wonwoo, Yoon Jeonghan, and Lee Dokyeom,” he said, counting them off on his fingers. “Those are the main ones. Typically, you can’t find Minghao without one of them nearby.”

“Oh, Dokyeom! I know DK! I have class with him,” Mingyu grinned enthusiastically. 

Vernon laughed at his excitement. “Make sure you’re careful, Gyu. From what I’ve heard, they’re all pretty protective of him. I don’t need you making enemies with some of my friends just to sleep with some guy.”

Minghao isn’t just some guy, Mingyu thought, but he kept it to himself. 

“I won’t,” he promised, clasping his hands together and bowing.

Vernon just snorted, turning back around to concentrate on his laptop. Mingyu leaned back on the bed, planning out his conversation with DK tomorrow. He could practically feel himself getting closer to Minghao with each small success. 

o_o

Mingyu slid into his seat the next day with a renewed sense of eagerness about class. Dokyeom sat next to him in this lecture and the two had become easy acquaintances pretty early on. He was a nice guy, quite personable and enjoyable. Mingyu had no doubt that he could strike up a conversation about DK and subtly lead him into giving more information about his attractive friend. 

DK arrived just as class was about to start, dropping into his seat and sending Mingyu a ‘good morning’ smile. “Hey man, what’s up?”

Mingyu grinned back. “Nothing much. Our frat is planning another party soon and that, plus the ramp up of basketball practices before the end of season, is really tiring me out. I don’t know if I can make it through this class.”

“I hear that,” DK replied, shaking his head. “I’m exhausted and I don’t even play sports or belong to Greek life. On the bright side, you guys’ parties are always the best, so at least your hard work pays off.” 

Jackpot. As expected, DK was continuing the conversation right into the direction Mingyu wanted to head. 

“Yeah, they really are. You come to a lot of them, right? With your friends?”

DK nodded. “Yeah, even the ones that hate frat parties still go to yours.”

This couldn’t be going better. 

Mingyu forced out an easy laugh. “They still go? Which of your friends hate frat parties?”

“Oh, you know. Minghao and Wonwoo both have a bit of a superiority complex over frat boys. Those two would rather spend the night watching some black-and-white French movie from the 1940’s than be at a party. I have to force them to go out and not just waste away being pretentious.” The fondness in his voice wasn’t hard to miss. 

“I can’t even imagine disliking parties,” Mingyu joked. “I mean, what kind of stuff does Minghao do in his free time if it isn’t partying?”

Dokyeom’s hand tensed a bit where it was wrapped around his pen. “Typical art student stuff. I’m sure you can guess.”

Mingyu shook his head. “Not really. I’m pretty much as far from an art student as you can get. What even is typical for him?”

DK smiled at him, but it felt a little forced. “Well, I guess if you’re the opposite of him, then you don’t really need to know what he does, do you?”

“Sure, but-”

“Why are you trying to know more about Minghao?” Dokyeom snapped, cutting Mingyu off. 

Mingyu paused, caught off guard. He could see DK closing up, see the way his eyes narrowed in distrust toward Mingyu. 

“I saw his art in the gallery,” he forced, trying to save the conversation. “It was really good and I wanted to ask him more about it.”

“I didn’t think you were into art,” Dokyeom pointed out. 

“I wasn’t,” Mingyu said without thinking. 

Something in DK’s face changed. His gaze grew softer. It made Mingyu uncomfortable, like the boy next to him knew something that he didn't. 

“He spends most of his time in building B of the art block,” DK mumbled, turning back toward his notes. “The third studio. It’s practically his, with how much he works there.”

“Thanks, DK,” Mingyu responded, smiling from ear to ear. 

DK shot him a somewhat suspicious, somewhat wary look, but chooses to say nothing about it. “Yeah, no problem, bro.”

The second that class ends, Mingyu hopped out of his chair and scrambled out of the lecture hall. He stopped at a coffee shop on his way to the art building. He stared at the menu for long enough that the people behind him began to complain. After making his decision, he headed toward the art block, drinks in hand. 

Sure enough, when he opened the door to the third studio, Minghao was the only person in there. He doesn’t look up when Mingyu enters, likely assuming it’s just another art student coming to work. He has wired headphones in his ears, bobbing along to the music, lips softly forming some of the lyrics. He’s in black sweatpants and a large black band t-shirt that Mingyu doesn’t recognize, both articles covered in an offensive amount of paint splatters. There’s smocks hung up in the corner that Minghao seems to ignore. The short sleeves gave Mingyu a chance to stare at the bracelets for the first time. There’s a lot of them, lining both wrists. Numerous different colors, widths, and patterns, some newer looking, some older looking. Mingyu wants to ask about them but for some reason feels like that’s stepping too far. 

Mingyu walked over to Minghao. The younger was completely engrossed in his work. His canvas was covered in black, messy paint, thick in some places and thin in others. He’s sketching on it, some kind of landscape. Mingyu leaned over his shoulder, trying to get a closer look at the light drawing. Minghao looked over at him and jumped, startled. 

“What the fuck?” He pulled one headphone out, leaving it to rest on his shoulder. “Mingyu? What are you doing here?”

He sounded angry. He looked angry, too. Mingyu wanted that to stop. “I brought you coffee,” he said, smiling. 

Minghao just stared at his face in disbelief. “Are you stalking me? How the hell did you find me?”

“I brought you coffee,” Mingyu just repeated, grin not faltering. 

Minghao continues staring, exasperated. “That is not answer-”

“Coffee.” 

Minghao ran a hand over his face. It left a swatch of paint on his jawline, adding to the one on his nose and cheek. Mingyu wanted to lick it off, ignoring the fact that it was likely toxic. It would be worth it.

“I only like a very specific order,” Minghao said, tilting his head slightly and settling Mingyu with an annoyed look. “I don’t drink anything else, so you can leave. Please.”

“I figured,” came Mingyu’s reply.

Minghao raised an eyebrow. 

“You seem like the type,” Mingyu shrugged. “Like, I bet you pretend like you drink black coffee for the vibe but you actually refuse to drink anything that isn’t painfully sweet.” 

“Fuck you. Still, there’s no way that out of all the orders in the world, you managed to guess the one coffee I can actually tolerate,” Minghao pointed out, glaring. 

“You’re right. I didn’t guess. I bought ten different drinks!” 

Minghao’s eyes grew wide. “You what? ”

He looked down to see, for the first time since Mingyu entered, the two drink carriers in his hands. Both had all four spaces filled, along with two more drinks precariously balanced in the middle. He sat there in disbelief, eyes flitting up to Mingyu’s proud face and back down to the insane amount of coffee in his hands. 

Mingyu set both carriers down on the table in the middle of the room, then pulled each cup out and lined them up so their labels face Minghao. “So, which is it?”

“You are fucking insane.” 

Mingyu pouted. “Come on, Hao. I know it’s one of them.”

Minghao swallowed  with difficulty. His eyes kept landing on one of the cups, an iced latte. “Don’t call me that,” was all he said. 

Mingyu picked up the drink. “Iced vanilla latte with caramel,” he read off the label. 

The artist seems to struggle between ignoring Mingyu and forcing him to leave  and getting to drink his favorite coffee, waking himself up a bit like he needs. He says as much. 

Mingyu shook the cup, ice rattling against the plastic. 

Minghao held his hand out, sighing. Mingyu happily bounded over to him, placing the latte in his hand. 

“This is not an invitation to stay,” Minghao said, sipping from the straw, even as Mingyu pulled a chair up next to him. 

“I just want to watch you paint,” Mingyu explained.

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” he replied. He really doesn’t. 

“What are you thinking?” Minghao asked, looking into Mingyu’s eyes with no judgment. It made Mingyu want to be honest. 

“I’ve never seen anyone do it before. I’ve never even really known anyone who paints. It’s interesting to me, like you live in a different world than I do.” 

It was weird how much one question and one glance from Minghao had Mingyu baring his soul in a way he didn’t even know he could. 

Minghao nodded. “Just don’t bother me,” he said, turning toward his work. He put his earbud back in and picked up his pencil. 

The basketball player scoot his chair closer, chin almost on Minghao’s shoulder. A few minutes in, watching the careful strokes of Minghao’s lead, Mingyu reached around the artist’s face and pulled out Minghao’s headphone, popping it into his own ear. Minghao looked at him, offended. 

“What are you doing?”

“I want to know what you’re listening to,” Mingyu shrugged, shooting Minghao his best puppy eyes. 

He focused in on the music. It was a man singing, a lot softer than he expected. One look at Minghao and Mingyu would immediately assume the guy listened to the hardest, most satanic rock in history. This was different. It was still rock, for sure, but the voice was smooth and pretty, even. The drums and guitar were subtle in the background, a backing for the man’s voice rather than the main focus. 

And she weeps on my arm

Walking to the bright lights in sorrow

Oh drink a bit of wine we both might go

tomorrow, oh my love

“What is this?”

Minghao’s voice sounded thick when he spoke. “Don’t be mean.”

Mingyu put his hand on Minghao’s shoulder without thinking, brushing his thumb over the skin on his neck. “I’m not, seriously. I like it.”

The younger went rigid at the initial touch, then relaxed. “Really?”

“Really,” Mingyu whisperd. “Who is it? I’m curious.”

“Jeff Buckley,” Minghao replied, just as soft. “A Rock artist from the 90’s.”

Mingyu continued listening. The song was ramping up, the man pushing more emotion, more power. “He has a nice voice.”

“Yeah, he does,” Minghao smiled. 

The song changed. Jeff Buckley’s soft singing filled the space between them.

29 pearls in your smile

Coffee smell and lilac skin

Your flame in me 

I’m only here for this moment 

The lyrics, in a light falsetto, tug at something in Mingyu’s brain- the smell of the coffee he had brought had already filled the room, the scent of the drink in Minghao’s hand close to his nose and the way Mingyu’s breath froze a bit whenever Minghao smiled, when he finally showed his pretty teeth to Mingyu, when he finally looked happy to see the basketball player. He traced the features of Minghao’s face with his eyes, entranced by his focus. The moment felt stable and calm, something Mingyu hadn’t ever really felt with anyone else. It felt like he had waited his entire life to be here, right here, next to Minghao in this room. His breathing was clear like a weight had been taking off his chest, as if he had been searching and longing for this moment and now he was finally here. 

“I didn’t think that you would listen to something like this,” Mingyu admitted, still whispering, afraid that speaking any louder would shatter whatever was in the air. 

“What did you think I would listen to?” Minghao asked, dragging a long line across the black paint. 

“Harder stuff, I guess.” 

Mingyu was a little fearful that Minghao would get offended, that he would shoot Mingyu another dirty look for stereotyping him. 

Instead, Minghao laughed. It’s more of a giggle, and it made Mingyu want to record the sound and set it as his ringtone. “I do, sometimes. Black Sabbath, Deftones, Metallica- stuff like that, I’m assuming? It just depends on my mood. Would you have kept the earbud in if that had been what was playing?” He teased. 

“I would.” Mingyu knew his voice sounds too genuine in response to the joking tone of Minghao’s. 

“Really?” Minghao sounded surprised.

“I want to know what you like. I want to know what you think and feel. I want to know any part of what makes you who you are and that shows me everything about you.”

Minghao said nothing. The pointed tips of his ears were a flaming red. 

And then, suddenly, it hit Mingyu. Like a punch in the chest, it hit him, that he isn’t using pickup lines. The things he was saying aren’t used to get into someone’s pants. The things he was feeling aren’t lust and sexual attraction. This time with Minghao was time on a bet, time induced by Mingyu’s attempts to earn five hundred dollars. He had forgotten. It had completely slipped his mind. The conversation with Juyeon had been pushed to the back while Minghao’s features and the sound of Minghao’s favorite artist took precedence. It brought a panic up in his chest. He was doing something wrong, something he wasn’t supposed to. He hadn’t even been thinking about fucking Minghao, hadn’t been imagining a future where he pressed the younger into the sheets and had Minghao’s thighs wrapped around him. He’d been thinking about wrapping his arms around Minghao’s torso while he painted. He imagined a future where he brushed the long hair out of Minghao’s eyes in the morning and kissed his bare, natural face. Mingyu’s hands were starting to shake. He was so deep in thought, in panic that he didn’t even notice when Minghao turned around, deciding to be done for the day. 

Suddenly, Minghao’s hands were on his face. Mingyu was shocked out of his previous stupor and forced into a different one, mind blank except for the holy shit Minghao is touching me bouncing around in his empty brain. Minghao pushed the elder’s hair back, up his forehead and then cupped his cheek with the other hand. 

“You have a nice face,” he mumbled, eyes trailing all over but never meeting Mingyu’s directly. 

Mingyu’s aforementioned face burned. “I- um. What?”

Minghao seemed to realize then what he said and attempted to pull back. Mingyu instantly hated the loss he felt when the younger’s hands had barely left, so he grabbed Minghao’s wrist and pressed it back where it was. “For art,” Minghao clarified, clearing his throat. “For sculpting or drawing.”

Mingyu leaned into the touch, the warmth of Minghao’s body. “Will you draw me, one day?”

“I’m not good at realism.” 

“I just want you to try. I want to see the way you see me.”

Minghao smiled. Before he pulled his hands away, he carded through Mingyu’s hair. It felt nice against his scalp. His eyes may have fluttered closed. “Okay. Maybe one day,” Minghao murmured. “I’m going to leave now,” he added, standing up. 

When he stretched, Mingyu stared a bit too hard at the arch of his back, the way the large sleeves fell onto his shoulders and revealed more skin, the way he bit his lip and his eyes slipped shut. 

Mingyu followed Minghao out of the room, making sure to grab the numerous coffees on the table. Before he trailed after the painter, he turned back to look at the work on the easel. He had spent most of his time staring at Minghao’s face rather than what he was working on. When he glanced at it, he was hit again with that feeling, the one he got whenever he looked at Minghao’s exhibit, too. It hurt, somehow. Whatever Minghao was trying to convey through his art, it wasn’t positive. It made Mingyu scared, showed him that there was so much more to know, so much more for Minghao to show. The tug of war inside of him battled between wanting to run away and never find out, or to learn everything he could about the younger man, no matter what it did to him. 

“Are you coming?” Minghao called from the doorway, one hand on the light switch and the other on the door handle. Mingyu jiggled his head, making the strange thoughts dissipate. He followed Minghao out of the room. 

o_o

Mingyu didn;t really mean for it to become a routine. Really, believe him! Somehow, against his very will, it did. Mingyu began showing up at Minghao’s studio almost daily, bringing the younger his coffee (he memorizes the order, along with Minghao’s favorite coffee shop) and sitting next to him while he worked on the canvas. Sometimes they sit there without talking, each with one earbud in, indulging in whatever artist Minghao prefers that day- more often than not, it’s Jeff Buckley, as Mingyu learned that he really is Mingyu’s favorite artist. Other times, Minghao is willing to talk. He becomes more open with Mingyu the longer the older spends there. At first, it was basic things. He learned about Minghao’s favorite movies. Minghao got offended every time Mingyu told him that he had never heard of them, but in Mingyu’s defense, Dokyeom hadn’t been exaggerating. Minghao tended to watch decades-old movies in entirely different languages, ones that no one in their right mind would watch for fun. Minghao would also poke fun at Mingyu’s answers, telling him that cartoon kid's movies were not an adequate ‘favorite movie’ response. 

Eventually, he learned more personal things, too. Minghao had been painting since he was a kid. His mom had put him in art lessons after school, and ever since, he had been in love with it. He had always used it as a way to express himself in the way words couldn’t. He painted about his feelings and his experiences because it made him feel seen and heard. He had a bad relationship with his dad. Whenever Mingyu would ask, his face would harden and the words he used to describe the man were less than flattering. He spat his father’s name and cussed him out. He told Mingyu that a lot of his paintings were about his dad. They didn’t talk anymore. He kept in touch with his mother, though. He didn’t seem to love her either, in Mingyu’s opinion. Not in the way a son should love their mother. When he talked about her, his face was conflicted. He spoke of her like an old friend, a past fling, not a parent. He wouldn’t expand much on her. Mingyu didn’t push. 

It wasn’t long before they had graduated out of the third art studio, moving to Minghao’s dorm room. Mingyu began bringing his homework over, too, and they would sit in Minghao’s bedroom (which was exactly what you would picture it to look like- posters covering the walls, stacks of CDs in the corners, a tumblr emo teen’s dream room) or in the living room, working to the sound of Minghao’s music and quiet conversations. 

The first time he had come over to Minghao’s dorm, he had messed up. The place was a lot worse than he had expected it- small and dirty, covered in stains, far too tiny for Minghao and two other roommates to live in. Blinded by surprise, he insulted Minghao without thinking. Mingyu had come from a family of money, lived in the most expensive frat in the area, and had people that cleaned the house for him. To him, Minghao’s dorm was something he had never experienced, something that no one should experience. It was cluttered and old. There were dishes and trash in the kitchen and random art supplies thrown wherever. Their furniture was clearly secondhand. It was still cute, still quaint, still Minghao, in all the best ways, but Mingyu’s speaking-without-thinking trait shoved him straight into boiling water. The second he spoke up, harsh words about the state of Minghao’s living conditions, Minghao had whirled on him. 

“Get the fuck out,” Minghao seethed, no hesitation. 

The fury on the younger’s face opened Mingyu’s eyes. “Shit, Hao, I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.”

“I shouldn’t have even brought you here, stupid rich asshole,” Minghao had muttered. He placed his palms on Mingyu’s chest and began shoving him out. “Go back to your frat mansion, motherfucker.”

Mingyu grabbed Minghao’s arms and pulled the artist into his chest. Minghao did his best to squirm and struggle to get out, but Mingyu held him tightly in the hug. “That was stupid,” he admitted. “I shouldn't have said that. You’re right. I’m an asshole, but I’m sorry and I won’t act like that again.”

Minghao had stopped squirming at his words. He looked up at Mingyu. With Minghao’s body pressed against his, fists curled into his shirt, staring up at Mingyu with wide eyes and a slightly open mouth, Mingyu had never wanted to kiss someone as badly as he did right then. The thought had made Mingyu rigid and Minghao pulled away from him with ease. 

“It’s okay,” he murmured. Fingers still tangled in the fabric on Mingyu’s chest, he dragged the elder over to the couch and pushed him down on it. “Just work.”

It took a while after that for Minghao to be comfortable around him in the apartment, as comfortable as he had been in the art studio, but eventually, he got there. Sometimes, when Minghao sat on the couch and Mingyu sat on the floor, the artist would let Mingyu lean against his legs and place his forehead against his thighs. The first time Minghao had worn shorts around him, complaining about the heat and changing from his typical baggy pants to black sweatshorts, Mingyu had spent the entire time trying to force down his boner. He never really had a thing for legs before, but Minghao’s were just so long, and pale, and smooth, that Mingyu had practically drooled at the sight of them. 

Mingyu started bringing more than just coffee, too. He began bringing dinner over, whatever takeout Minghao is craving at the moment. He stayed later than needed and fed Minghao with his chopsticks, brain going a little hazy every time Minghao’s plump lips part, pink tongue rolling out to wrap around the food Mingyu was offering him. For a few days he’s staying later for dinner and then he stays even later for movie nights. Minghao forced him to watch all of his pretentious foreign films, pushing Mingyu’s head to focus on the subtitles everytime he looked away. Sometimes, on good days, Minghao would let Mingyu curl an arm around his shoulders and he’d lean in, pressing himself into Mingyu’s chest while they watch whatever he picked. 

He met Minghao’s roommates. Jun seemed to like him, as far as he can tell. He’s a nice guy, Chinese like Minghao, and sometimes they would have conversations in Mandarin right in front of Mingyu’s face that Mingyu was pretty sure were about him. But Jun smiled whenever he opened the door for Mingyu and there was a lightness in his voice when he called for Minghao to tell him that Mingyu had arrived. He asked Mingyu about his day and kept on easy conversations with him, so Mingyu grows to like Jun, even if Jun gossips about him. Wonwoo, however, does not like Mingyu, and doesn’t seem like he ever will. Not for a lack of trying on Mingyu’s part, either. He did all the same things he does with Jun, starting conversations with Wonwoo and trying his best to appeal to the older, but Wonwoo always just leveled him with dead looks and responded to his desperate attempts with dry, one-word answers. Minghao told Mingyu not to worry about it, that Wonwoo doesn’t warm up to people easily, but it’s hard for Mingyu to ignore. For one, everyone is supposed to like Mingyu, once they get to know him. That’s just how it goes. But, also, every interaction with Wonwoo makes Mingyu a little sick. He felt like Wonwoo knows, felt like the elder can see everything Mingyu is trying to hide. In particularly bad moments with Wonwoo, Mingyu thought that maybe he knew about the bet. 

The bet. That stupid, idiotic bet that is currently the bane of Mingyu’s existence. 

Honestly, it was practically impossible for Wonwoo to know about the bet, and Mingyu was sure that if he did know, he would’ve told Minghao. Wonwoo’s possible knowledge wasn’t the only thing about the bet that Mingyu was beginning to hate, though. It was everything about it. He had grown to really like Minghao over time. He enjoyed the younger’s company, enjoyed every second he spent with him. In a different situation, maybe if they had met differently, Mingyu believed that he and Minghao could be best friends. He wanted them to be best friends, but with every second he spent with Minghao, that stupid voice was nagging in the back of his head, reminding him about the bet. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to sleep with Minghao anymore. Trust him when he says, for sure, that he was definitely still sexually attracted to Minghao. It’s just that, in the past, all he had was lust for the younger. All he saw Minghao as was a person to sleep with, a notch on his bedpost. It was different, now. Minghao was a person in his eyes. He was a friend. And Mingyu spent every waking moment terrified that the bet was going to ruin all of that. If Minghao found out about it, he would never want to see Mingyu again. It was an idea that Mingyu couldn’t stomach. The nausea haunted him, and so Mingyu did what he did best when it came to problems- he shoved the bet to the back of his brain, pushing it away every time it attempted to rear its ugly head, and pretended it didn’t exist. 

Mingyu spent most of his time over at Minghao’s now. He only came back to his room at night. Vernon had started to notice. At first, he would ask Mingyu where he had been. He stopped after a while when it was clear that the answer was the same every time. One night, when Mingyu came back, the room was dark. Vernon was a lump in his bed, so Mingyu attempted to sneak in. A voice spooked him, speaking up as he crawled under his sheets. 

“You need to stop this,” Vernon said. He wasn’t looking at Mingyu. There was a blank look on his face as he stared up at the ceiling. 

Mingyu cleared his throat before speaking. “Stop what?”

“All of it. Everything with Minghao. It’s getting mean.”

“It’s different, okay?” Mingyu had answered, feeling a little offended that Vernon thought he knew better than Mingyu did. “The bet doesn’t matter to me anymore.”

“Then call it off,” Vernon had said, sitting up. 

Mingyu sputtered. “It doesn’t matter , okay? Minghao and I, we’re friends now. I like that. I want that. The bet doesn’t fucking matter anymore.”

Vernon’s eyes were blazing when they looked into Mingyu’s. “There’s no coming back from this if you sleep with him. There is no possible good outcome.”

“Are you not fucking listening to me?” Mingyu growled out, annoyed. “We’re friends! I’m not going to sleep with him.”

“No good will ever come from this, Mingyu. Just remember that.”

“Fuck you-”

“Goodnight,” Vernon had interrupted. He laid back down and turned around. 

Mingyu had sat up in anger for a few more hours, rolling the words around in his head. Things were going well with Minghao. This was the good outcome. Vernon had no idea what he was talking about. What he and Minghao had, it was good, and Mingyu didn’t want anything else to happen. He was happy where he was, Minghao’s best friend.

Until, it all went downhill. 

Mingyu picked up tteokbokki from a restaurant he and Seungcheol had visited before, one he thought Minghao would really like. He headed toward the artist’s apartment. Minghao had started leaving the door unlocked for him. Jun and Wonwoo were tired of opening the door every time he knocked, so Minghao said it would be easier for him to just let himself in. He transferred the takeout bags to one arm and pulled on the doorknob, entering the dorm. 

Minghao was curled up on the living room couch. His knees were pressed against his chest. He was biting his thumbnail, and there was a phone pressed against his ear. He was talking to someone. 

Wonwoo was in the kitchen. There was a glass in one of his hands in a rag in the other like he was doing dishes, but he wasn’t moving. He was just staring at Minghao as if he were monitoring him. When Mingyu walked in, Wonwoo just shot him a look, barely acknowledging his presence. He looked worried. 

Minghao’s voice got louder on the couch. He was arguing with someone, but he didn’t sound mad. His words were upset and tear-filled. 

“I know. I know, I’m sorry,” he was saying into the phone. The person on the other end was noisy, talking endlessly. “Mom, I know. But I can’t. You have to understand-”

Mingyu remembered the conversations he and Minghao had about his mother. The weird way he acted about her, the strange way he spoke about her. Whenever Minghao talked about his parents, Mingyu felt unsettled. 

“I don’t have the money, Mom. I don’t have it right now. No, I don’t get my paycheck until next week. They won’t give me an advance.” He began biting his thumb more viciously, his teeth digging into the edge of his nail. 

“I do care about you. I do, Mom, I really do. I’m doing everything I-” his voice choked off. He sniffled. Mingyu felt his heart shatter. 

“It’s okay. Calm down. I’ll find something. I will. I love you. I’ll-I’ll find some money, okay?” There were tears actively trailing down his face now. His voice was watery. Over the phone, his mom was yelling loud enough for Mingyu to hear it. “No, my boss won’t let me. I have to work; I can’t come home. I do love you. Please, Mom, calm down.”

Wonwoo set the glass down and made his way out of the kitchen. He glared at Mingyu, almost as if he was saying ‘Get out,’ with nothing but his eyes. He sat down next to Minghao on the couch. Instantly, the younger curled into him, his head leaning against Wonwoo’s chest. Wonwoo ran his fingers through Minghao’s hair. 

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I know,” Minghao was repeating, over and over again. 

“I’ll come home,” he said eventually. The yelling on the other end stopped. “Mhm, I’ll come home, okay? And I’ll bring some money with me, I swear. Okay. Okay. I love you, too.” 

Minghao pulled the phone away from his ear and hung up. He sat forward and set the phone on the table. Then, he stayed there, frozen, sitting up straight, tears dripping steadily down his face, silent. 

“Myungho-ah,” Wonwoo whisperd, softer than Mingyu had ever heard him speak. It broke a dam inside of Minghao, and he’s falling backward, crumbling into Wonwoo’s chest, cries wracking his body. 

“I hate her. I hate her so much,” he sobbed, pounding his fists against Wonwoo. The elder just sat there and took it all, rubbing his hands down Minghao’s back and through his hair. 

“I fucking hate them so much. I hate them. I wish I was never fucking born. I hate them,” he screamed, fingers tangling in Wonwoo’s shirt. He looked so pained, so miserable, that Mingyu felt bad for him. He had no idea what was happening, left out of the loop that Minghao and Wonwoo were in, but it didn’t take a genius to see how hard Minghao’s breakdown was affecting the elder.

“I know. I’m so sorry. I know,” he was whispering into Minghao’s ears, sounding close to tears himself. 

Minghao’s words devolved into broken nonsense, then just painful sobs. After a while, he was breathing heavily, but steady, the tension in his shoulders dropping. Wonwoo kissed the top of his head. Minghao took a few more seconds, sucking in harsh breaths, before pulling his head out of Wonwoo’s chest. 

“Oh, fuck, Wonwoo, you have to get to work,” he instantly said, wiping his tears with his sleeves pulled over his hands, staring at the clock. 

“No way, Hao. You’re an idiot if you think I’m leaving you like this.”

“You have to get to work,” Minghao said again, sounding close to another breakdown. “It’s my fault. I distracted you and now you’ll get in trouble and I can’t-”

“Calm down,” Wonwoo shushed. He brushed Minghao’s hair back. “It’ll be okay. I’ll be okay.”

“No, no,” Minghao said, shaking his head. “You can’t stay. You have to go.”

“Minghao.” Wonwoo sounded stern. “I am not-”

“I’ll stay.”

Both of the people on the couch turned to him in surprise, different expressions on their faces. 

“You should’ve left a while ago, Mingyu,” Wonwoo forces out through gritted teeth. 

“When the fuck did you get here?” Minghao asks. 

Mingyu ignored both of them and slowly made his way over to the couch, approaching them like he would a cornered animal. 

“I can stay with him, and then you don't have to worry.” 

Wonwoo shook his head. “No fucking way. I told you to leave. There’s no way in hell I’ll let you be alone with him.”

“You should go, Wonwoo,” Minghao said softly. He trailed a cupped hand down the elder’s cheek. “I’ll be okay. Mingyu can stay. I want you to go.”

“Myungho-” 

“I want you to go. I don’t want to feel responsible for you missing your job. Please, go,” Minghao begged. 

Wonwoo shot a gentle look at Minghao, then a vile one at Mingyu. “If you need anything, please call me. I’ll drop everything and come,” Wonwoo said, petting Minghao’s head one last time before standing up. He grabbed Mingyu on his way to the door, pulling the younger with him. Before he left, he shoved Mingyu away, then grabbed him by the shoulders, so fast he almost got whiplash. 

“If you do anything to make him upset or fuck anything up, I’ll kill you,” Wonwoo threatened. 

Mingyu put both hands up in a defensive stance. “I would never. I’ve never seen him like this, okay? I’m worried.”

Wonwoo rubbed a hand over his face. “I can’t believe I’m actually leaving you with him,” he muttered. Then, he sighed. “His parents are fucked up, okay? They treat him like shit. They abuse him, physically and mentally, and then they gaslight him into thinking that they care about him. He’s stuck halfway between loving them the way they try to force him to and seeing the truth about them, rightfully hating them for their flaws. It’s hard to pull him out of there. Just don’t let him fall into a depressive episode. It’s hard for him to come out and he’ll spend days doing nothing but hurting himself more. There’s pills on the counter. Make sure he takes them before he goes to bed. Let him talk it out if he wants to, but after, try and keep his mind off of things. Distract him and keep him happy. If you need me, call me, and don’t fucking hesitate because I will actually stab you with a kitchen knife if you let him sink into a bad state of depression and don’t do everything you can to stop it.”

Mingyu stared at him, jaw dropped, heart thumping, brain aching with the sudden onslaught of information he’d just been stunned with. 

“Got it?” Wonwoo asked, grabbing his coat and keys. “If you don’t think you can handle this, tell me now. I won’t have you fucking Minghao up because I made the stupid mistake of leaving him with someone unprepared.”

Mingyu swallowed. “I can handle this. I swear. You can go.”

Wonwoo stared at him. Once again, Mingyu got the uncomfortable feeling that the elder could see right through him. “I hope you’re actually a good guy,” Wonwoo said, shaking his head. Then, he slammed the door shut before Mingyu could respond. 

The basketball player made his way back to the living room. Minghao was still curled up on the couch. He hadn’t moved since they had left him, still chewing on his thumb. When Mingyu sat down, Minghao didn’t react. Mingyu noticed a line of red dripping down his chin. Then, the fact that his thumb was covered in red, running down his finger and staining the sleeve of his shirt. 

“Minghao,” he said. He leaned toward the younger, slowly, wrapping his fingers around the artist’s wrist. It caused Minghao to pause, eyes finally flitting over to Mingyu. “You’re hurting yourself.”

Minghao pulled his hand away from his mouth and looked down at it. “Oh,” he mumbled. “I hadn’t noticed.”

From where Mingyu was sitting, it looked bad. He had chewed the nail down, way past the edge of his finger, blood bubbling out from the too-short nail. Once he hadn’t been able to go any farther there, he had begun biting away at the skin around his thumb, tearing off parts of his flesh and leaving small gashes in their wake. Several of them were still actively bleeding heavily. 

“Where is your first-aid, Hao? I need to go get some bandages.”

“Kitchen.” He pulled his legs tighter against him.

“I’ll be right back,” Mingyu promised. He pressed a kiss to the clean part of Minghao’s hand and went into the kitchen. 

He wasn’t sure exactly where the first-aid kit would be, as Minghao just gave him a general area, so he began searching each drawer and cabinet. He took this time, away from Minghao, to take a deep breath, trying his best to acknowledge and understand everything that just happened, everything that he saw and learned. Minghao’s parents were abusive. It made sense, Mingyu thought grimly, based on the way Minghao talked about them. It didn’t make it any less painful to see the younger that way, sobbing to Wonwoo, screaming out his misery, or this way, in a haze, lost, injuring himself without even knowing it. Mingyu wanted nothing more than to pull the younger into his arms and protect him from himself and others. Wonwoo had mentioned that, too. Minghao hurting himself. Minghao in a depressive episode. Pills on the counter. Mingyu looked around, then landed on them. A bright orange bottle with a white top and a white label, the object quite well-known. There was no being oblivious to what it was. Mingyu made his way over and picked up the pill bottle. There were small pink and white tablets inside. The label clearly displayed the word ‘Lithium’ in big black letters with ‘Xu Minghao’ in the same font at the top. Mingyu pulled his phone from his back pocket and typed ‘lithium medication’ into the search bar. A medication typically used to treat bipolar disorder, the results displayed. Bipolar Disorder. Minghao was bipolar. 

Mingyu let out a shaky breath, grabbing the bottle in a tight fist. He placed both hands on the counter top, letting his head hang low. 

“Fuck,” he whispered. It felt like the world was spinning around him, flinging him across the room and back, flipping him upside-down. It was like nothing was real at the moment, like he was stuck in a dream, a nightmare, with no way out. He placed his head against the cool granite and took a few deep breaths in, a few out. Once he felt stable enough, he continued searching the kitchen, eventually finding the first-aid kit in a drawer next to the sink, and made his way back to Minghao. 

Thankfully, the younger had stopped chewing on his thumb. He had the TV remote in his hand and was aimlessly scrolling through the channels, eyes unfocused and finger pressing almost rhythmically on the button. Mingyu was pretty sure he wasn’t actually looking at anything displayed on the screen. 

Mingyu sat down next to him and softly pulled Minghao’s hand into his lap. The lacerations on his skin made Mingyu a little nauseous, but he shoved it down and focused up. He disinfected it first, apologizing numerous times when Minghao would suck a breath in through his teeth or try and wrench his hand back. It seemed to wake Minghao out of his haze, which was a positive, but now Mingyu had to look into Minghao’s pain-filled eyes, which was very much a negative. He lathered the wounds with Neosporin and then wrapped a little piece of gauze around them before bandaging it up. When he was done, without thinking, he placed a little kiss on the tip of Minghao’s thumb. He heard the artist’s breath catch in his throat. Mingyu grabbed the pill bottle from the table and handed it to Minghao, averting his eyes while the younger opened the cap and took what he needed. After, Minghao set it down and went back to shrinking in on himself, arms wrapped around his knees. He looked so small, so young, that it pulled on Mingyu’s heart. He swallowed hard. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

Minghao stayed silent for a while. He was staring down at his legs. “Can you just-” he paused, struggling to get the words out. “Can you just hold me, right now?”

“Of course,” Mingyu responded. He opened his arms up, an offer for Minghao to fall into them. He did that very thing, burrowing himself into Mingyu’s chest. The basketball player leaned back, pulling Minghao with him until he was laying completely down with Minghao on top of him. The artist’s black hair tickled under his chin, but Mingyu could care less. It felt right like this, with Minghao’s weight on top of his. He stared down at Minghao for a while, both of them saying nothing. Mingyu wanted nothing more than to get inside his head, to think what Minghao was thinking, just so that he might be able to help him. And so, he asked what Minghao always asked him. 

“What are you thinking about?”

“My family,” Minghao responded easily. “I’m thinking about my parents. I’m starting to wonder if they ever really loved me at all.”

Mingyu didn’t respond. He didn’t know how to. He felt helpless, useless in the face of real problems, unable to give comfort to the one person he’s ever cared about like this. 

“My dad was always horrible. Always evil, always bad, always abusive. From as young as I can remember, he would hit my mom and I. I always felt bad for her. It was like she was on my side because to me, we were in this together- two people struggling against the same abuser. When I was younger, I think she really did love me, maybe. I don’t really know when things started to go wrong. Maybe it was when I came out. It’s hard enough to have a transgender kid as it is. It’s even harder when your husband already hates the kid, and now he has to deal with having a faggot, not just a disappointment. Maybe it was when I got diagnosed. The teachers at school sent me in for testing. They said I acted weird. The doctors gave me expensive medication and this stupid pamphlet to give my parents- How To Deal With Your Bipolar Teen. My mom cried when I gave it to her. I thought she was sad, or worried about me maybe, but then she complained to me about how much the pills cost and how much it was going to take from our budget. My dad came home that day, and, when my mom told him, he beat the shit out of me. He told me that all I did was waste their money and waste their lives, and I would have to spend every moment after this making up for that. And so, I did. I got my own jobs, paid for my own stuff. I stopped depending on them for anything. That wasn’t enough for them, though. So now, I pay for their stuff. They said that it’s how I show I care, how I prove that I love them. I have to send them checks every month, enough to cover all of their expenses and more. And still, that not fucking enough for them. They still want more, more, more. I don’t know how much more I can give.”

Mingyu didn’t notice he was crying. Minghao did, though. He sat up on Mingyu’s chest, eyes wide. “Why are you crying?”

Mingyu laughed, softly. “Seriously?”

Minghao smiled. It was small, barely there, but he smiled. “I’m okay, you know.”

“I think that you and I have very different definitions of the word ‘okay,’” Mingyu replied. 

Minghao reached up and wiped the tears off Mingyu’s cheeks with his thumb. “I can handle it.”

“That doesn’t mean that you have to. It doesn't mean that they should make you. It doesn’t mean that they aren’t horrible people.”

“I don’t think she’s horrible. I think she struggles, like I do. And I think she’s put up with it longer than I have and it’s changed her for the worse. I just hope I never end up like her.”

“Hey, don’t say that. You won’t, okay? You’re different. You care about people, and you love people. You’re a good person and you always will be.”

Minghao’s smile grew. Mingyu was sure that he had never seen anything more beautiful. “Thank you.”

“I’m just being honest,” Mingyu replied. He brushed a curl behind Minghao’s piercing-lined ear. It turned red. Mingyu pretended he didn’t see it, for Minghao’s sake. 

“You wanna watch a movie?” He asked, picking up the remote from where Minghao had left it on the table. 

The artist hummed, squishing his cheek against Mingyu’s chest. “One of yours.”

Mingyu froze. He had already been directing the clicker to the ‘Foreign Films’ section. “One of mine?”

“One of yours,” Minghao repeated. He’d never watched one of Mingyu’s favorite films before. He’d never wanted to, and Mingyu had never really cared, perfectly content pretending to listen to one of Minghao’s 1950s Japanese art films while he was actually staring at the curve of Minghao’s nose and the way his eyes light up in excitement when a good scene came on. 

Mingyu scrolled, landing on The Princess and The Frog . “You’ll like this one,” he giggled, fondly recalling Minghao’s infatuation with the small amphibians. “Trust me.”

Mingyu pressed play on the movie before setting down the remote and wrapping his arms around the body on top of his. The tension sunk out of Minghao’s body as the film played on until he practically melted into Mingyu’s skin, soft and supple to the touch. It wasn’t until halfway through their second film, Tangled, that Mingyu heard the soft snores. Minghao had fallen asleep. 

Mingyu stared down at him openly without the threat of being caught by Minghao’s watchful eyes. He looked different while he was asleep. There was no furrow in his brow, no creases of stress on his forehead. He looked relaxed, more peaceful. Mingyu studied his pretty features, from his fairy ears to his big eyes, his small nose, and his plump lips. Mingyu thought about what it would be like to see this face when he woke up every morning, to look at this face before he went to sleep at night. There was no longer a panic when he had these thoughts. Things had changed. Mingyu imagined what it would be like, dating Minghao. It would probably be work, he had found out today. Minghao had a shitty relationship with his parents. He had manic highs and depressive lows. He bit off his skin without knowing. He didn’t take good care of himself. Dating Minghao would be hard, but it would be worth it. Because if they were dating, Mingyu would get to see his smile every day. He would get to see the upturn of his lips, the soft mirth in his eyes. He would be able to stare without hiding it. He would be able to touch without restricting himself. He could kiss Minghao on the lips and feel parts of Minghao that nobody else gets to. To Mingyu, every struggle would be worth it. Because the truth was, the undeniable, indisputable, honest truth was that Kim Mingyu was in love with Xu Minghao. 

It was late that night when Wonwoo came back. He looked at Mingyu, wide awake on the couch, eyes fondly locked on the sleeping boy on his chest, with an undefinable look in his eyes. Without a word, Wonwoo came over to the two and picked up Minghao, bridal style. He stayed asleep the entire time, thankfully, and Wonwoo took him into his room and placed him in his bed. When he came back into the living room, he grabbed the first-aid kit and the bottle of pills. 

“You should go home,” was all he said to Mingyu. Then he went into the kitchen. 

Mingyu leaft, exiting quietly through the front door. 

When Mingyu got to the frat house, the first thing he did was go find Juyeon. He was in his room, playing video games with Johnny and Jungwoo. 

“I want to call off the bet,” Mingyu said, no preface. 

Juyeon looked up, eyebrows raised. “What?”

“I want to call off the bet. I don’t want to do it anymore.”

Johnny laughed. “He’s still rejecting you? Damn, Mingyu, you really did strike out.”

“It’s not like that!” Mingyu was irritated. “It’s mean and disrespectful. It needs to end.”

“What’s gotten into you?” Juyeon asked. “It’s not mean. He’ll never find out. Just admit that you can’t bag him, man!”

Mingyu felt like pulling his hair out. “It’s a shitty thing to do and you’re completely ignoring his emotions. I’m not continuing with the fucking bet.”

“Jesus, man, what’s got you so considerate all of the sudden? You’re acting like a girl, talking about all these feelings and emotions and whatnot,” Jungwoo snorted, not looking up from the Mario Kart on the screen. 

“It’s because he’s spending too much time with the tranny,” Johnny pointed out, cackling. “Minghao is infecting our friend. He’s turning Mingyu into a woman!”

“You are a sick son of a bitch,” Mingyu seethed. His fists were clenched at his sides. “You all are fucking assholes.” 

Mingyu walked out, slamming the door shut behind him. He heard the whispers in the room when he left, but ignored them, stomping his way up to his bedroom. Vernon was sitting on his bed when Mingyu walked in, head immediately popping up when the basketball player closed the door with a loud bang. 

“What happened to you?” He asked. 

Mingyu face-planted into his bed. “I tried to end their stupid bet. They wouldn’t let me. They were being dicks.” 

“Sounds like them,” Vernon yawned. 

“I tried,” Mingyu said again. For some reason, he felt himself looking for some kind of validation within Vernon. The younger man seemed to realize that. 

“You shouldn’t have made it in the first place,” he pointed out. 

Hindsight is 20/20, Mingyu wanted to say, but Vernon continued. 

“But it’s good that you tried to stop it. You’re growing. You’re becoming less selfish.”

It felt like an insult, like a jab, but Mingyu couldn’t find it in himself to be offended. 

“Thanks,” was all he said. Then, he buried his face further into the pillow and fell asleep, dreaming of Minghao’s face lit by the flashing colors of Tangled and the press of Minghao’s body against his own.