Archive of Our Own ^beta

Yuta doesn’t really like his name.

No, not the Yuta one. The Nakamoto one, the family name.

He isn’t too into it because back in Japan, when he was still a young, hopeful student, you can basically find at least one Nakamoto in each and every classroom. Sure, the written kanji might be different, but when it all goes down, it goes down to the reading. There was like five other Nakamotos other than Yuta in his middle school, and three in his high school.

It’s nothing serious. It’s not as if he hates the history of his name or anything. It’s fine, Nakamoto is a good name. Common, but still good. It’s just that Yuta was born a little more self-absorbed than other people… just a little. He wants to be a little different than others. He wants to mark his presence a little deeper onto people so they wouldn’t forget him easily. Mostly, he wants to be known by a lot of people. He likes having a lot of acquaintances. Not for gains, but just for the sake of it. Yuta is self-absorbed and in constant need of recognition, which is either bad or good, he has yet to find out. So far, he’s doing fine.

But it wasn’t fine when someone in school mentioned his name and their conversational partner asked, “Which Nakamoto?”

It wasn’t fine because back then it happened a lot. This basically told Yuta that he either needed to be known more or just simply sabotage the rest of existing Nakamotos in the school.

That was his younger years. People grow up, yes, but sometimes only parts of them. He didn’t regret being a self-absorbed bastard; he still is, mostly. Yuta might not be that sensitive about his last name anymore, especially since in college, everyone is practically friends with each other and on first name basis, always; but it still tickles him the bad way when people jokingly calls him Nakamoto.

Jokingly, because in the soccer team, whose authority he shares with Hansol by the way (the tall fucking guy from the Arts Department), they call each other by last names when they play on the field. It was some sort of habitual system. Something that had rooted in the club before Yuta entered the university, met Hansol, and kicked his ass in an one-on-one. Yuta still stubbornly called his teammates by their first names, but this was always met by Hansol’s curious frown.

“Why,” Yuta asks one day, and Hansol just looks at him with his big, deep, unreadable eyes until Yuta elaborates.

“Last name?” Hansol responds, looking away while scratching his wrist. His skin is lighter on the place where he’s always worn his watch. “Isn’t it just the way it is? When you play in an official match, they most always recognize you by your last name. I think it’s how it goes around here, anyway.”

“Most always,” Yuta says. “But can you call me Yuta outside practice?”

“Alright, Yuta,” Hansol says, putting a slight pressure on his name. Then he smiles, and Yuta winces. Yuta doesn’t know why, but Hansol’s smile terrifies him quite a bit. After befriending him for almost a year, Yuta has decided that Ji Hansol might be the living epitome of passive-aggressiveness. Even his smile is passively threatening, if that’s even possible. “I don’t know why you’re always so worked up over this name things. It’s just… well, name.”

“Let’s just say it’s my complex,” Yuta murmurs, after pausing to think for awhile.

“’Kay, you do look like someone who would have some type of inferiority complex,” Hansol decides. “Japan has it rough with all the complexes, man. I’ve watched The Confession—“

“It’s got nothing to do with my nationality,” Yuta quickly says, now somewhat offended. “Well, maybe a little, but mostly it’s me.”

“At least you have enough self-awareness to realize that you’re the fucked up one,” Hansol says, shrugging. He begins to pick up his things and heads to the locker room, leaving Yuta on the bench, pondering over just how much self-awareness he has shown Hansol that it contradicts his whole personality. He isn’t used to being self-aware.

Yuta’s friends are close enough that they always call him by his first name. The rest call him by his first name simply because he always introduces himself as just “Yuta”. Simple, but does the trick. When his peers try to describe him to their other friends, they’ll use “Yuta, the Japanese kid” or sometimes throw in his whole name “Nakamoto Yuta the soccer club co-captain”. But very rarely, almost never just Nakamoto.

Almost never, because Doyoung’s whole existence seals the fucking gap between that “almost never” to an actual “never”.

Yuta can’t even begin to understand this. Ten calls him by his first name and so does Taeyong. Even Jaehyun, who he’d met just a few months ago in the routine basketball practice, also calls him by his first name. Hansol, Youngho, Mark, and Jaemin all call him Yuta. His first name seems to be his only name around the campus these days, which is a great confidence boost for Yuta, but then Doyoung comes in the picture to ruin it all for him.

See, it just tickles him the bad way when others accidentally call him by his last name, but when it’s Doyoung, it doesn’t just tickle. It mars his entire fucking pride, deep and profound like a dagger wound for some reasons that Yuta can’t comprehend. He just can’t stand the way Doyoung says it. Wait, he also can’t stand Doyoung in general.

Everything about Doyoung is aggravating, really; the condescending tone he uses whenever he talks, the distinct glare that’s reserved just for him, and the tight-lipped mouth when he scowls or smiles like he can’t just do proper human reactions. His personality, ugh; if it annoys him before, he now hates it with passion. Even Doyoung’s voice, which is just smooth and silky according to Taeyong and apparently has led the choir club to win numerous singing competitions, annoys him to the bones. Doyoung’s voice is always tight in his ears, as damaging as the sound of his nails grazing down a fucking black board. Not that Doyoung is the type to drag his nails down a black board, but still.

“Nakamoto, why the hell are you here?”

“Let’s see how good you’ll get on that half-assed essay, Nakamoto.”

“I wish you would go back to Japan soon, Nakamoto.”

“Nakamoto, shut up, I can’t concentrate!”

Yuta knows why Doyoung so like to call him by his last name when he’s obviously asked practically everyone to call him Yuta. Doyoung is smart; maybe a little too smart for his own good. He’s also irritatingly observant, which is unfair, because Yuta suspects Doyoung has already linked all the clues as to why Yuta always asks to be called by his first name, and he is now not-so-secretly planning to make his day worse within every single chance he’s got by not doing exactly that. Doyoung has an extensive knowledge of cross-cultural matters, so he probably knows that Nakamoto isn’t an uncommon name in Japan. By connecting it to Yuta’s personality, which is as easy to read as a newspaper, he’s just singlehandedly dissected Yuta’s greatest distaste and personally using it against him. Maybe Doyoung is just too fucking good at being his enemy.

A fatal point that Doyoung has seemingly overlooked, however, is that he basically supports the same complex as Yuta does, albeit not as profound. Fun fact: Doyoung isn’t a real name; he’s registered in the campus as Kim Dongyoung, and to see just how worthwhile it was to rummage through the school files just to find Doyoung’s E-card, Yuta once tried to call him Dongyoung instead of Doyoung (or asshole, or jerk), unlike usual. He thought it couldn’t have been as bad as Yuta was. Doyoung just erases two letters from his original name; surely it couldn’t have meant much?

Well, not really.

Doyoung just looked up at him from the book he’s reading, seemingly unimpressed. Although his distinct, usual glare tells Yuta silently that he has just wasted half an hour to find his real name for almost no gain, Yuta can see under the stoic expression that Doyoung’s a little tipped off. Yuta’s foot has just stepped on the tiger’s – or maybe the rabbit’s – tail. That’s enough for him; Yuta grinned so widely until Doyoung’s eyes left his face and he turned back to his book, murmuring something he couldn’t quite catch, but he caught the displeasure, nevertheless.

“What’s wrong, Dongyoung?” Yuta asked, deliberately putting his arm around Doyoung’s shoulders. The latter made no attempt to shrug him off, but Yuta knew he desperately wanted to. That much was visible on his hard lips. “Why don’t you go by the name Dongyoung around here instead of Doyoung? It’s not a bad name.”

Doyoung glanced over. Yuta did mean that a little. Maybe. Dongyoung does roll off his tongue better than Doyoung.

“I don’t need your opinion on the name my parents gave me,” Doyoung spicily retorted. He slams the book shut and stands up, efficiently shrugging Yuta’s arm away. “And for your own information, Nakamoto, Doyoung is easier to spell by some of my friends rather than Dongyoung. Don’t put me in the same level as you are.”

“What level?” Yuta asked, even though he had a feeling he knew what Doyoung was getting at.

“Unlike you, people can call me by either names and I’ll still function properly,” Doyoung said. “It’s just a name. It’s better than being called by your student number, anyway. Good morning, 15-003. Hey there, 18-445. God, that sounds awful.”

“That would actually be pretty cool,” Yuta commented. “Where are you going now, 17-771?”

Doyoung just scowled and left the room without any kind of response, leaving Yuta alone on the cheap plastic chair in the library.

Yuta and Doyoung’s sort-of rivalry has gone a long way. That long way is actually just six to seven months, but whatever. There’s a thing called love at first sight, so Yuta figures there must be an opposite system, as well. Yuta wouldn’t call it hate at first sight, since he’s usually pretty neutral, and hate really is a strong word; it was Doyoung who attacked him first, and Yuta was just responding accordingly. The distaste just grows over time, always fluctuating like ocean waves.

Yuta still remembers why Doyoung grew to dislike him so much. It happened in the first three months of their first year at college; they barely knew each other at the time. They just shared a friend in this English Composition class, a skinny man with an odd choice of hair color, Taeyong. Yuta was pretty content with their condition at the time. He didn’t feel the need to be close to anyone, anyway, be it Taeyong (that he got close to anyway) or Doyoung (which he became friend-enemies with later on that month). It was just that when Yuta tried to break into Joohyun’s office, the professor of the class, to steal back his essay so he could fix a few spelling mistakes, Doyoung was the one who caught him.

“Oh my God, what are you doing?”

Yuta’s heart almost dropped down to his toes as he whipped his head around, searching for the source of the loud shriek he’d just heard. With his hand still on the door handle, he spotted Doyoung, with a shitton of papers and books in his arms, standing a few feet away, staring at him with the biggest eyes Yuta had ever seen.

“Uh,” Yuta tried to think for a good reason, he really did, but his mind just said, honesty is a fucking virtue. “I need to fix my essay.”

“You need to fix your essay?” Doyoung repeated, still in disbelief. “How is that even—how is that even explainable? You’re breaking into Professor Joohyun’s office right now! That’s a crime!”

“I’m trying to break into her office, man,” Yuta corrected helpfully. “See? You need to work more on composing your sentence properly. That’s why we take the class, yeah?”

“Oh, smartass,” Doyoung grunted. He stepped forward and pushed Yuta away from the door. With his shoulders, since his hands are occupied. “I advice you to stop. If she finds out, this could get real nasty. For you.”

Doyoung was really close, and he smelled strangely like corn kiddy candies that Yuta’s roommate, Donghyuck, really likes. Yet Yuta couldn’t dwell on that because the look on Doyoung’s face was alarming. He looked like he would hit Yuta if only he wasn’t holding like fifty books.

“Yeah, for me. Not you, right? So why don’t you just, I don’t know, walk away and pretend you never saw me here?” Yuta shot back, and he watched as Doyoung’s lips thinned and thinned more into a straight line. His eyebrows creased together so tightly, Yuta was afraid they wouldn’t ever separate again. If he wasn’t so pissed himself, Yuta would’ve thought of how adorable Doyoung looked, all scrunched face and scowling like that. Like a pissed bunny. Except that he wasn’t a bunny, and he looked like he could actually hurt Yuta. If he wanted.

“I can’t do that, that would burden my conscience,” Doyoung said, and Yuta almost doubled over laughing, because is this guy even serious. Doyoung almost lost his shit when Yuta started going for the door again. He quickly stood in his way, blocking Yuta. “Seriously, just stop! Why don’t you just accept the fact that you screwed up once and live with it?”

“I wouldn’t even try to do this if Joohyun wasn’t so harsh about the spellings,” Yuta said. “I can’t afford to fail the class, alright? I have an important match coming up this summer.”

“What’s a few spelling mistakes to being dragged to the counsellor’s office, Nakamoto?” Doyoung reasoned. “That could cost you your whole semester, not just the freaking class.”

Yuta would actually be okay with Doyoung trying to stop him from doing what could possibly be the biggest scholastic mistake he’d ever made in college (after all, he knew he was in the wrong here), but that Nakamoto he dropped just fell right into a sore spot, already stretched because of Doyoung’s grating method. No matter how adorable, it was still grating.

“Would you lay the fuck off me?” Yuta finally burst out. “If I’m caught, I’m caught! It’s my problem, okay? What’s it got to do with you? Don’t be so fucking nosey.”

Doyoung didn’t respond to well to that. Weird, since with his haughtiness, he should’ve gotten used to people lashing out at him every now and then. He should’ve at least gotten used to being called nosey; it was a milder insult than some of the insults Yuta had thrown to people like Doyoung throughout the years.

“I’m just trying to help you!” Doyoung said, equally as loud as Yuta was. Yuta was sure a couple of people who were just around the corner could’ve heard his voice. “I don’t even know you, but since I’m a good person at heart, I don’t want you to do one stupid mistake that would ruin your whole college career!”

“I would ruin your whole college career if you don’t shut up!”

Doyoung gasped, as if Yuta had just disrespected his dead great-great-grandmother, but then while he was getting ready to respond back with what Yuta was sure was an equally scathing response, there was a female voice speaking over them.

“What are you two doing?” Joohyun said, and both Yuta and Doyoung shrieked before stepping away from the door. Their professor is standing behind them, a look of immense suspicion on her face as she scrutinizingly looks at them. “Could you step away, please? I need to get inside.”

“Uh, um, we were just,” Yuta stuttered, and Doyoung, with one last, heated glare at him, shifted his stare to Joohyun. Yuta was really afraid that Doyoung would rat him out, because that sounds like what people like Doyoung would do, but he just said in the most proper tone he had, “We had a few questions regarding your lecture last Friday.”

“Is that true? Well, I’m busy right now, Doyoung. Can you come back later in the afternoon?” Joohyun said. It didn’t go past Yuta that she knew Doyoung’s name, which probably meant Doyoung was significant enough for her to remember. She walked past Doyoung and Yuta, pulling out a key from her pocket and unlocked the door. She shooed them away with a flip of her palm, and Yuta’s eyes shifted back to Doyoung. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t even know what to think.

Doyoung looked at Yuta again, pointedly, and Yuta, deciding that there was nothing else he could do, turned away to leave. He half-expected Doyoung to follow him, and he wasn’t disappointed.

“You were seriously trying to break into that woman’s office?” Doyoung asked, still in that incredulous tone. “She once gave detention to half of the class just because none of them could spell ‘preposterous’! You just escaped from a lion’s mouth!”

“Yeah, and I’m sure it’s all thanks to you,” Yuta said bitterly, shoving his hands inside of his pockets, eyes straight ahead so he didn’t have to see Doyoung’s face. He didn’t need to get even more irritated. There went his hope of getting a better score on his final essay.

“You sure didn’t sound grateful.”

Yuta stopped dead in his track and turned his head to look at Doyoung. “Do I look grateful to you right now?” he asked from between gritted teeth.

“If you don’t sound grateful, you sure won’t look like it,” Doyoung replied coarsely. Yuta stared at him in disbelief, and he remember thinking, Jesus, just how annoying can you get? Doyoung was so smart, and he was possibly on the same level as Yuta was when it comes to trivial, tenacious banter. Despite his initial docile looks, this weird bunny-faced man in front of him could prove to be an equal opponent.

Yuta didn’t know how to feel about that.

“Well,” he said. “It’s because I’m not. Grateful. To you. In the slightest. I hate you, more like. Now since you’ve helped me escape from the lion’s mouth, how about you shut up and go your own way?”

He must had said something funny, because Doyoung suddenly laughed. He laughed for ten seconds full, as Yuta waited crossly for him to explain why he’d started in the first place.

“You hate me?” Doyoung repeated, after his laugh faded. Okay, no, he didn’t say anything funny – Doyoung just had a fucking weird sense of humor. “You hate me because I saved you from having your life destroyed by a professor? Now that’s a first, Nakamoto.”

“You think you saved me? You intervened me!”

Doyoung’s mouth went so quick from open-mouthed giggling to the usual straight line. “I guess an idiot won’t ever realize his own stupidity,” he said, shrugging, before turning around to leave Yuta, standing alone in his anger, irritation, and a bit of wonder.

It pissed him off too that he wasn’t the first one to walk away, just for the sake of making things end a little more dramatically.

It didn’t help that they had to meet the very next day, since they shared a class. At least judging from the look on Doyoung’s face, he too had forgotten that they usually sat next to each other.

“Taeyong,” Yuta called out before Doyoung could sit his ass down on the empty chair next to him.  Taeyong was sitting in the seat in front of them, crossing and uncrossing his legs as he went over a Word document in his laptop. “Switch seat with me.”

“Why,” Taeyong said, not even looking up.

“Just because,” Yuta said. “Unless you want to witness murder in the next five minutes, I suggest you switch seat with me.”

“Sure won’t be my death,” Doyoung added wryly.

“Oh, believe me, smartass. Whoever dies, I’ll still win. You die, I win. I die, I don’t have to see your face again, so I win. Lee Taeyong give me your fucking seat.”

Taeyong grunted. “Fine. Whatever the hell’s wrong with you today.”

“Not today, technically,” Yuta said, as he stood up with his bag and let a disgruntled Taeyong shuffled past him to his previous seat. “More like yesterday.”

“The only thing that went wrong yesterday was your common sense, though,” Doyoung murmured lowly.

Yuta didn’t even stutter; he was always equipped for a fight. “It wouldn’t have been wrong if you hadn’t butt in and made me lose my fucking chance!”

“You never had a chance in the first place!”

This made Taeyong look up from his laptop, his gaze now locked to Yuta, then to Doyoung, and then to Yuta again. His mouth formed a straight line, unsure.

“Okay, hold up. Did something happen yesterday between you two that I’m not aware of?” Taeyong demanded, making a time out sign with his hands. “Do I even want to know what went down?”

Yuta looked at Doyoung, but Doyoung wasn’t even facing his direction, that asshole.

“No, not really,” Doyoung replied. “You don’t really want to know.”

“Whatever,” Yuta said.

“You two seem a lot more closer than usual today,” Taeyong continued. “I mean, you’re talking freely to each other and all. That never happened before.”

“Sadly because I found out how much of a meddlesome asshole Doyoung is,” Yuta shot out.

Doyoung snapped. “I was hoping a good night sleep would make you come to your senses, but apparently you still think you’re innocent in this matter, Nakamoto.”

There it was again, the Nakamoto tripwire. Doyoung could’ve called him anything – asshole, idiot, jerk, bastard, or even a fucking fuckboy if he wanted, Yuta would gladly accept it – but he just called him by his name. His last name, of all things. Yuta was never one to lose his cool in a fight, but he swore it took every inch of his self-control that day not to turn around and jump over the desks to attack Doyoung.

Joohyun gave back their graded essays two weeks after Yuta’s quarrel with Doyoung in front of her office. Yuta got a C – better than what he’d expected, but he was still salty over Joohyun’s terse comments on each of his misspells. By then, his initial anger toward Doyoung had subsided, but the guy always managed to piss him off with other things he found throughout the two hours they spent together in that cramped English Composition classroom, so it didn’t matter what mark he’d got on the essay anyway. At the end of day, Yuta always wondered if Doyoung was specifically put in existence to make his day harder.

“You know,” Taeyong said, when Yuta came to him about this. The both of them had gone off their usual campus route to get some milkshakes on their way to Taeyong’s next class. “That’s what Doyoung thinks too.”

“What?”

Taeyong traced the menu with his skinny finger. “That you exist solely to make him suffer.”

“Well, no shit,” Yuta said. “He makes me suffer just as much as I make him.”

“Then isn’t your relationship mutualistic?” Taeyong asked, curious. After they ordered, he turned to lean his elbows on the counter, looking at Yuta now.

“No, Taeyong. We don’t make each other happy. It’s definitely not mutualistic.”

“But come on,” Taeyong said again. “He looks better-off when he’s bickering with you. Usually you two are so quiet around each other. Doyoung’s barely talking to you. Now you seem to have found your calling.”

Yuta looked at Taeyong incredulously. “I’m sure my calling would have nothing to do with Doyoung, whatever the hell it is.”

“Want to bet?”

“Taeyong.”

“Okay, I’ll stop. Geez,” Taeyong exhaled loudly. He rubbed the bridge of his nose uneasily. “It’s just… I don’t get why you have to be so intense with each other. Don’t get me wrong, Yuta, if I was the one passing you by that day you tried to break into Joohyun’s office I would’ve done the same thing—“ Taeyong stopped to give Yuta a side-eye, “—but that was like, months ago. Can you just let it go?”

“Arguably, if it was you who’d passed by, you wouldn’t have stopped me like Doyoung did,” Yuta reasoned. “And I would’ve let things go, but he’s the one keeping shit up.”

“This might come off as a surprise to you, but Doyoung’s a good guy,” Taeyong suddenly said. They went out of the café as soon as they got their milkshakes, not wanting to get caught up in the rush hour that was coming soon. “He wouldn’t be my friend if he wasn’t.”

“Taeyong, you attract assholes. You have never once went on a good date, like ever. Whenever you agree on someone asking you out, you always come home crying to Donghyuck. You don’t have any right to tell me that Doyoung is a nice guy.”

“But he is!” Taeyong claimed defensively. “And if that’s how you see me, wouldn’t you be an asshole, too?”

“I am,” Yuta replied calmly. “I thought we all have gotten to that part a long time ago.”

“Still,” Taeyong insisted. “Doyoung’s nice. Not just to me, but to everyone he’s met. He’s like, polite and sensible and everything. He’s really good, Yuta.”

Yuta didn’t answer, sipping his milkshake quietly. Which was uncharacteristic, because Yuta never stayed quiet.

“Okay, not to everyone, I’m sorry. He’s not good to you,” Taeyong quickly corrected himself, apologetic. “But that’s because you’re offensive to him. It’s his antiphon.”

Yuta deadpanned, “I don’t have a fucking dictionary for a brain, Taeyong. I’m a Medical Sports student for God’s sake. Do elaborate.”

Taeyong exhaled. “Right, I’m sorry. It’s basically his reaction.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Introverts have their own way to deal with offensive people,” Taeyong said, sighing again as he talked. People do sigh a lot when they’re dealing with Yuta, and he treats this as achievement of some sort. “They have self-defense mechanism. Which, in Doyoung’s case, is his unpleasant attitude toward you, because he deems you as unpleasant. You’re facing a mirror.”

There were a lot of things that Yuta didn’t understand, but he didn’t address them. Instead, he asked, “So Doyoung’s an introvert?”

“Do you know his favorite singer?” Taeyong asked. “Or even what other class he takes? That he’s not the leader of the choir club, contrary to the popular beliefs? Do you even know what he’s majoring in?”

Yuta frowned. This information was new to him. “He’s not the leader? I thought he trained them and got the freshman team to win last month.”

“No, he’s not. Taeil’s the de facto leader, but that’s not my point. See here, Yuta, Doyoung told me these things three months after we became friends. He talked a bit about how his days go. A bit about who he is, what he likes, what he wants to do in life. But he never told you, even though you guys are – were – seatmates.”

There was a silence as Yuta slurped on his drink while taking this information in.

“Well, I mean,” Yuta said finally, hunching his shoulders. “We didn’t know each other, Taeyong. I wouldn’t tell people I don’t know things about me that easily, too.”

“But he knows you’re the co-captain of the soccer club,” Taeyong continued evenly, as if Yuta had never interrupted him. “He knows that your birthday is in October, he knows that you’re friends with Ten, he knows that you listen to One OK Rock, and he knows that you used to live in Osaka.”

Yuta looked at his knuckles. “So?”

Taeyong looked like he was very tempted to hurl his drink at Yuta. “I never bothered to tell him these things, Yuta. You told him yourself. Or he listened when you were talking to me. Same thing.”

Yuta took this in, letting in settle down inside of his mind. What Taeyong said could be true. Yuta didn’t want to think about it, but now that Taeyong had mentioned it, he felt like he did kind of told Doyoung some of these things. Without Doyoung asking him to, of course. He briefly remembered telling Doyoung about Osaka when their English discussion had somehow steered to some popular places in Japan. Proof that they could be civil before things went to shit, that was, as acquaintances.

“So I tell things, Doyoung doesn’t,” Yuta said. “Big deal.”

“You were the one who asked if Doyoung was an introvert, and I answer, yes, he is,” Taeyong uttered, now annoyed. “Which is why he’s being mean to you. Because you’re mean to him. Some introverts are like that.”

Yuta pretended to check his watch. “You spent like, five minutes talking about human dispositions just to tell me that you’re siding with Doyoung in the end?”

“I’m not siding with anyone,” Taeyong said, frowning. “I’m always neutral. But I do want you to know that if you’re willing to let go, he will, too. I feel like you two could be great friends if you just try. Also,” Taeyong stopped to press his wet cup on Yuta’s side, causing the Japanese to let out an upset whine. “You guys are always so fucking loud, I can’t concentrate in class.”

Despite what Taeyong has told him, Yuta can’t just suddenly get along with Doyoung.

Yuta and Doyoung are polar opposites, but the bad kind. Yuta knows a lot about opposite attraction – he’s usually attracted to people who are different than him. His crush in high school was this really shy, reserved girl who spent a lot of her time in the library. When he first entered college, he even had a crush on fucking Taeyong, goddamnit. It was partly because of his looks, but Taeyong was – looked like – an honor student, with his round wire glasses and laptop-wielding skinny hands, until Yuta befriended him and found out that Taeyong was more like him in character. Taeyong’s not narcissistic, of course, but he’s still friendly and warm and expressive, and that’s enough similarities that Yuta immediately dropped all romantic feelings involved.

But Doyoung… Yuta has never thought someone could be so different from him the way Doyoung is. It’s like every side Yuta has, Doyoung emulates it at the opposite end of the spectrum. Yuta is animated; Doyoung doesn’t like showing too much emotions. Doyoung is careful in everything he does; Yuta just charges right in without thinking. Their differences are so solid that they are visually perceptible; people could tell from the first glance that Doyoung would never match Yuta’s wavelength, and neither will Yuta.

None of them tries to match each other, anyway. Yuta knows both of them know it’s pointless, and if they agree in only one thing, it’s how they won’t ever click. They fight, and fight, and kind of make up, only to fight again the next minute. Even over the smallest of things, the most unimportant of matters. Like how Doyoung accuses that Yuta has always monopolized Taeyong’s company even though Doyoung was friends with him first, or how Yuta swears Doyoung always sends him the wrong reading material on fucking purpose so he’ll get annihilated by Joohyun in their next class.

Yuta doesn’t hate him anymore, no, not as much as he thought he did. He doesn’t know if his initial loathing is waning because the cause of their beef doesn’t look as significant anymore, or if because he’s gotten used to Doyoung (God forbid). He’s not angry anymore that Doyoung made him sort-of flunk his essay – after a few months, he could see why Doyoung did what he did that day (though he would never admit this alive).

He still doesn’t like Doyoung, though. His patronizing tendencies still annoy him; so do his tight-lipped smile/scowl, his condescending tone, and his wide-eyed expression whenever Yuta says something a little bit inappropriate. And of course, especially, the way he always addresses Yuta by his last name never fails to make Yuta a little more pissed off that he usually is around Doyoung.

Yeah, Yuta definitely doesn’t like Doyoung, because Doyoung doesn’t like him, as well. Yuta also doesn’t like Doyoung because Doyoung never wants to call him Yuta, seriously, just Yuta, like how others call him.

But when, exactly, did he start deriving amusement from their quarrel?

Yuta doesn’t know when he started noticing this, but he’s less irritated when arguing with Doyoung. He used to act like a ten-years-old whenever Doyoung picked a fight; rattled, angry, not using his brain but rather his heart to respond to Doyoung’s provocation. Now he could think clearly, searching for clever comebacks steadily, and even anticipating Doyoung’s next insult with fervor. Sometimes he even smiles when Doyoung openly criticizes him, and he knows he looks damn good while doing so. Sly Yuta is the best Yuta, Ten has always said, and Yuta believes him.

In turn, Doyoung, who used to be so composed even in dire matters, gets easily flustered now when quarreling with Yuta. He frowns harder, scowls deeper, and gets visibly irate. It gives Yuta a little bit of satisfaction knowing that the visible stress taking toll on Doyoung’s body is caused by him – if not only at least partly, then. Lunch time – Yuta begins joining Taeyong and Doyoung’s table ever since Jaehyun and Youngho are there too, now, just for the sake of it – is becoming some sort of arena for them to just bicker and argue and try to tear each other down.

Whenever Taeyong sees them going at each other’s throats, he shakes his head in disappointment. Yuta has a feeling he keeps thinking about that conversation they had over milkshakes a few months ago and wonders to himself where did he do it wrong. He didn’t. Nothing went wrong. Yuta got what he was trying to say, he just doesn’t want to get chummy with Doyoung that fast. Or ever, if anything.

No matter how observant he is, Taeyong was wrong about some things. Doyoung doesn’t mirror everything Yuta does. Even if Yuta was willing to let things go – a big fat if, too, at that – Doyoung wouldn’t give in so easily. No matter how polite Yuta’s tone is when talking to him, no matter how reluctantly civil Yuta tries to be, Doyoung is always so skeptical of him. He doesn’t let Yuta try to break their routine; he’s lessening the already almost-nonexistent reasons Yuta has to get them to quit this immature, trifling rivalry.

It’s probably because he doesn’t trust Yuta that much. Yuta doesn’t blame him. He doesn’t trust himself, either.

So Yuta stops trying.

But if life gives in to what you want, then it wouldn’t be life at all.

“Make a group of three or four,” Professor Joohyun says, one day, out of the blue, right after she walks into the class without even saying hello, “And re-evaluate the reading material I’m going to give you later. Tell me what you think about the problem and give me your best solution. All in one essay. Write it neatly. Absolutely no misspells will be tolerated.”

The whole class groans.

“Oh, great,” Doyoung whines first, before Yuta could even understand what risk make a group of three or four brings. “It’s a group work. With a minimum of three people.”

“Just a quick warning,” Taeyong says promptly, again, when Yuta is still silent and thinking hard. “I am not letting either of you work alone for this, and I’m pretty sure Joohyun’s with me. The three of us will be in the same group. No questions, no whining.”

“No whining seems a bit much,” Yuta finally responds. “I mean, everyone’s whining.”

He’s not wrong. All around them, other students who’ve chosen to take Bae Joohyun’s English Composition class earlier this year seem to have regretted their decision.

“Absolutely no quarrel in my presence,” Taeyong continues, ignoring Yuta. “We get this done as soon as possible, and then you guys can do whatever the hell you want. When I’m not around.”

“Sounds… passable,” Doyoung diffidently agrees.

“Excellent,” Yuta mutters wryly. “When do we start?”

Taeyong checks his agenda. “Next Thursday is fine with me. We can meet up in your room, Yuta, if you’ll let us.”

“Sure, but why?”

“Because I haven’t seen Donghyuck in forever and I need to give him the latest update about… well, the latest update.”

Yuta feels like Taeyong is hiding something here, though knowing him, Yuta knows he will end up in the hush-hush sooner or later. Taeyong keeps secrets well; it’s just that Yuta is better at prying it out of him – and Donghyuck, of course.

Suddenly remembering that Doyoung is also in the same group as them, Yuta turns to look at the guy, who’s just staring out of the window. He’s thinking about kicking his chair, giving him some good ol’ jolt to wake him out of his reverie, but Taeyong moves first.

“Doyoung,” Taeyong calls out. “You’re okay with working in Yuta’s room, right?”

There’s a pause. “Yeah.”

Wow, he’s tame, Yuta thinks, and for a second there he has a strange hopeful feeling inside of his stomach, fresh out of nowhere, but then Doyoung adds, “But clean it up first, Nakamoto,” and it’s gone again.

Well, Doyoung is Doyoung.

So that is how Yuta ends up cleaning his living room on Wednesday night. He doesn’t even know why he’s doing it – he’s definitely not doing it for Doyoung’s sake. He’s vacuuming the carpet while Donghyuck sits on the sofa with a bag of that corn candies that, in Yuta’s honest opinion, are just rip-offs of Skittles. The younger is quiet as he watches Yuta work, which, is uncharacteristic as hell. The day Lee Donghyuck turns unobtrusive for good will be the day of Yuta’s death, and Yuta believes he’s immortal, so.

“What’s gotten into you?” he finally asks.

Yuta turns off the vacuum cleaner so he could hear Donghyuck better, and then puts one hand on his hips. “What do you mean?”

“Hyung, you never clean,” Donghyuck accuses, throwing a wrapper at Yuta, though he misses. “I do the cleaning around here. And also the cooking, and the washing, and the studying. I’m the goddamn housewife of this room, and I have all the rights to ask why you’re doing my job right now.”

Yuta scratches his head. “So what’s your point? That I’m stealing your duty?”

“Yes, but also, you’re acting really weird,” Donghyuck finishes. “Like you’re preparing for a special guest or something.”

“Not quite. It’s just Taeyong.”

Donghyuck’s eyes narrow. “Only Taeyong hyung?”

“Mm, and another one, but mostly Taeyong. You know he’s basically allergic to dust and sin.”

“Right,” Donghyuck says, though he still sounds skeptical. “Can you explain why he sticks so close to you then, since you’re the living embodiment of sin?”

“I’ll vacuum your guts out through your mouth if you don’t shut up,” Yuta threatens. “Also you know better than anyone Taeyong draws in assholes like magnets. That includes you, kid.”

“Well, Mark doesn’t think I’m an asshole so your opinion isn’t valid.”

“Fine. Whatever. You’re whipped.”

Yuta turns the vacuum cleaner on again and continues to clean the whole carpet. Donghyuck still watches, quiet again for the whole time, and only when Yuta has done with the carpet that he speaks up again.

“And you’re not?”

“What?” Yuta asks again, now really annoyed. It’s one thing for Donghyuck to bother him when he’s working, but does he really have to be so confusing? The context is splattered everywhere like blood on a murder scene. Yuta has even forgotten what they were talking about.

Donghyuck is wearing his natural shit-eating grin. “And you’re not? Whipped?”

Yuta loses his concentration. Donghyuck’s unexpected allegation throws him so off-guard that it doesn’t even make sense, and the sudden loss of judgment is making him lose balance. Yuta actually steps on his own foot before quickly regaining his balance again, and that is absolutely embarrassing, because Yuta is a sporty guy and sporty guys don’t step on their own feet ever. It doesn’t help that Doyoung’s face immediately come up in the front of his mind. Why the hell does that even happen, and Doyoung, too, of all people, Yuta has no idea. He doesn’t want to have any kind of idea.

“What does that even mean,” Yuta manages to say, but it’s to no use. Donghyuck has definitely caught on Yuta’s short second of disturbance, because his wide grin just grows even wider until it looks like he’s tearing his own face apart by smiling so broadly. Disgusting.

“Ah, I see,” Donghyuck says, now hugging his bag of candies like a body pillow. “I seeeeee. So there really is someone special coming.”

“If by special you mean in the nemesis kind of special, then yeah, dead on,” Yuta utters dryly. “We’re gonna be here the whole Thursday afternoon, working, so go court Mark somewhere else.”

Donghyuck’s smile falters. “Hey! Once I found out who your ass is pining on I’ll never let you live!”

“Oh, please,” Yuta says, pretending to wipe a nonexistent bead of sweat off his forehead. He’s pretty okay now since he’s getting his feet back on board, kicking Donghyuck down along the way. “You’ve never even let me live ever since we roomed, Hyuck. Give yourself some credits.”

Donghyuck mutters some more threats under his breath before he storms off to his room. Yuta sighs in relief, and also satisfaction. Now with the young menace out of his sight, he settles to start cleaning the messy stacks of magazines underneath the coffee table.

Yuta doesn’t realize he keeps thinking about Donghyuck’s words until he finishes cleaning the coffee table. As he gets himself some canned coffee from the fridge, Donghyuck’s loud voice reverberates through their bedroom door, singing some generic pop love song, and Yuta suddenly thinks, am I pining?

He texts Taeyong that night, too: Am I pining?

Cherry Hair: And who the hell would you pine on?

SoccerIsLife95: idk, u tell me

Cherry Hair: Yuta, that doesn’t even make sense.

SoccerIsLife95: ik but u r supposed to be, like, idk, common sense incarnate?

Cherry Hair: I might be, but that doesn’t mean I’m a clairvoyant, genius.

SoccerIsLife95: fine. u r just as helpful as hyuck, which means NOT AT ALL

Cherry Hair: You’re welcome, jerk.

But to be fair, Yuta is being a bit perplexing here. That, and also the fact that Taeyong is barely emotionally useful when he’s communicating through texts. Despite his habit of picking up bad guys to go on dates with, Taeyong gives really good advice. Usually. Though, now that Yuta thinks about it… what does he need Taeyong’s advice for? He’s not really facing any kind of problem currently, not that he’s aware of.

Yuta doesn’t know what to think, especially not when Doyoung arrives first than Taeyong. When Yuta opens the door, instead of seeing Taeyong and Doyoung, it’s just the latter, alone, standing anxiously with his books tucked in his arm as always.

“Taeyong’s gonna be late,” Doyoung says, quick and stiff, when Yuta just looks at him in wonder. “Ten’s hauled him to the studio, said the Hi-Fi broke or something.”

“Well, I doubt Taeyong would be able to help with that, but,” Yuta says. He shrugs. “It’s fine. Come on in, I guess.”

Yuta steps inside to let Doyoung in, and when he passes, there are two things that Yuta simultaneously realizes at the same time: a) Doyoung smells really good, and b) That was the most civil conversation they’ve ever had.

And Yuta being Yuta, is never used to keep things inside of his mind. “You know,” Yuta calls out from the door, when Doyoung (still stiff, as if he’s charting enemy territory and is quite uncomfortable with it) sits down in front of the TV, “You smell like my roommate Hyuck’s corn candies.”

Doyoung frowns. “What?”

“You smell like—“

“No, I know what you said. But that’s really random.”

Yuta shrugs. “It’s a good smell, in case you’re wondering.”

Doyoung lets out a laugh. Strangely, it doesn’t sound forced or sarcastic or anything, like usual. Doyoung just laughed in a normal, genuine way. “Oh, no, Nakamoto. Was that a compliment just now? You think I smell good?”

“I’m just stating the facts,” Yuta says. “Doesn’t necessarily mean I’m complimenting you, Dongyoung, though if you want it to be that way, take it.”

“Why, thank you,” Doyoung says, in an overly polite tone, but he’s still smiling. “How very sweet of you to say I smell like your roommate’s favorite candy. You must’ve liked your roommate so much.”

Yuta stares at Doyoung’s smile. He feels weird. This feels weird. Doyoung never smiles like that, and this situation seems so unreal – he’s half expected them to start fighting again the moment Doyoung enters the room, and when they’re not, he’s bewildered.

“Hey,” Doyoung says suddenly, tone strict again when Yuta just stays still. “What are you doing, just standing there? We have a lot of work to do, mind you.”

Yuta snaps out of this thoughts. “Ah, yeah. I know. Sorry.”

There it is again, the strange feeling that hits the inside of Yuta’s stomach like a really bad medicine. He’s never said sorry, not even once, to Doyoung. This is very unreal, and insufferable. Doyoung doesn’t seem to notice, but Yuta doesn’t like where this is going. Why can’t Taeyong just go finish whatever shit he’s doing at the studio and come over so he can be the goddamn wall between them?

Doyoung takes out his laptop (as well as a couple more books from his backpack) and settles it down on the coffee table. Yuta strolls to the kitchenette and busies himself with the snacks he and Donghyuck store in the second drawer. He doesn’t know what Doyoung likes. Wait, he doesn’t care. Vacantly picking his preferences, Yuta keeps standing by the counter for no apparent reason.

“Have you read the material?” Doyoung says again, outwardly uncaring that Yuta doesn’t seem to want to sit down. “I sent it to you guys last night by email.”

“If you could say skimming over reading, yes, sure,” Yuta says. He finally settles with a tub of Pringles and a few of Donghyuck’s corn candies. Just for the sake of it. “Why?”

“Why? Yuta, we only have a week for this,” Doyoung says, suddenly exasperated. “And you might have a lot of free time, but I don’t. I’m barely living between my classes, choir club, and basic life requirements like eating and sleeping.”

Yuta doesn’t like to freeze – it’s a waste of time and energy and a basically useless bodily function to him, all in all, not to mention how uncharacteristic it is for him to just halt all movement – but at that time he stops trying to pry the Pringles tub open. Doyoung has just spoken his longest sentence to Yuta yet, one that doesn’t contain any kind of bitterness or anger or sarcasm. Also, Yuta has good ears, so he’s sure Doyoung didn’t misspeak.

He just called him by his first name.

“Hey,” Yuta shoots out. “What’s up with you?”

Doyoung exhales tiredly and softly, like he could barely care about what’s in Yuta’s mind right now. “What’s up with me what?”

“You just called me Yuta,” Yuta says. He doesn’t know if he should feel amazed, scared, or confused, though he’s mostly feeling confused. “You’ve never done that.”

Doyoung frowns. Now he’s focusing fully on Yuta, and Yuta would be lying if he doesn’t say Doyoung looks just as muddled as he is. Probably not at Yuta, though, but at himself. He stretches his thin fingers on top of his keyboard, slowly thinking, letting a lax silence falls between them.

(If Yuta was feeling alright, he would laugh at this situation. Silence is never really their friend – his and Doyoung’s – whenever they are around each other. Again, uncharacteristic.)

“Right, I did, sorry,” Doyoung says then. “I meant Nakamoto. Maybe it’s the exhaustion getting to me. Well, please excuse that.”

“No, still,” Yuta says. “This is weird.”

This time Doyoung makes an audible sigh, visibly confused. “What is?”

“This! Don’t you feel this? Or are you too exhausted, Doyo—Dongyoung?” Yuta continues on. He makes a gesture by flailing his arms around. “We haven’t fought yet. In like, a full ten minutes. Doesn’t that sound so freaking weird to you?”

“What, is it that scandalous of a fact that I can be civil around you?” Doyoung asks, having the audacity to smile while he does so. “Surprise surprise, Nakamoto.”

Okay, he’s really tired, Yuta thinks. Doyoung is definitely so tired that he’s not acting like himself, and it’s throwing Yuta off his balance (now figuratively). He’s not provoking Yuta the moment he sees him. He’s not even throwing any kind of veiled insult. He even smiles twice – twice, in the short span of ten minutes or so – and Yuta feels like he will have a migraine soon.

“Do you really want to fight that much?” Doyoung says again, when Yuta still stands near the counter, staring at nowhere in particular now, keeping his mouth shut. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m currently not in the mood. Is the popular, great, never-losing-his-cool Nakamoto Yuta not used to unexpected situations? Doesn’t like it when things aren’t the way it’s supposed to be? Deal with it, dipshit.”

Alright, there’s the first insult. Maybe Yuta isn’t getting crazy after all.

“There are so much questions I could make out of your statement just now, you do realize,” Yuta says. He finally settles down on the other side of the coffee table, facing Doyoung. Doyoung has turned his focus back to his laptop, probably re-reading the material again. He’s frowning again, and now that Yuta is closer, he could see what Doyoung’s talking about. The guy looks like he only sleeps two hours a day.

“Is that so? Humor me, then,” Doyoung responds dryly. “Maybe I could use some entertainment.”

“Do you want to fight?”

On a normal occasion, this would only sound as a challenge, or an automatic response. But Yuta doesn’t really feel aggressive now, not when Doyoung’s no longer stiff and angry and sarcastic. It seems like Doyoung isn’t wearing his Let’s Ruin Yuta’s Day personality today.

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “Do you?”

“Great, throw the question back at me, why don’t you, smartass.”

Doyoung scratches his neck, still looking at his laptop screen. “Depends on the time, Nakamoto. I’m feeling really tired right now, which means I’m not exactly equipped to fight you today. Maybe next time.”

“So you don’t want to fight?”

“I would appreciate it if you don’t start,” Doyoung says, quietly emphasizing on the word appreciate. “See? I can be civil. Such a shame Taeyong isn’t around to see it.”

“Huh,” Yuta says. He’s amazed now. “Okay, then, let’s be civil.”

“Magnificent,” Doyoung says. “Now can you read the material, please? Read it properly, don’t just skim over it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Yuta murmurs. He whips out his phone from his pocket and checks out his email. Sure enough, <[email protected]> has sent him a PDF file, forwarded from their very own professor, Bae Joohyun herself.

“Hey, how could you get Joohyun to remember your name?” Yuta suddenly asks, now distracted.

“Why do you think?” Doyoung murmurs. His previously raised brows have gone down, but now they’re up again. “I actually pay attention in class, Nakamoto.”

“So does Taeyong, but I don’t see her calling him by his first name.”

Doyoung chews on his bottom lip. “Not wrong.”

“Then what?”

“It’s weird,” Doyoung says, now looking a bit uncomfortable. “And a long story.”

“Make it short, then.”

“She’s kind of dating my cousin?” Doyoung says, voice drawling out. “They met in the summer and hooked up before school year started. They just ended up going on dates afterwards.”

Now this is one hell of a new information. Yuta actually screams on top of his lungs, like a school girl, hands on his face. “Oh my God,” he sputters. “So Joohyun’s hooking up with your cousin? A student? What’s that lucky guy’s name, huh?”

“Mm, not really a guy,” Doyoung says. He’s biting back a smile, like Yuta’s reaction actually pleases him (though it absolutely has no reason to). “My cousin’s Kang Seulgi. A fourth-year student.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Yuta says, now covering his mouth in an excited shock. “That Seulgi? The one who killed last year’s charity stage?”

Doyoung winces. “Yeah, that Seulgi.”

“Ooooooh my God, this is… this is blackmail material right here,” Yuta says, grinning wide like an idiot. Doyoung whips his head up so fast to glare at him, suddenly no longer docile. “Uh, I’m just saying. I’m not planning to do anything, of course. She’s your cousin.”

“No, even if you plan to do anything,” Doyoung says. “This is pretty much public stuff. Well, not really public public, but everyone kind of knows Seulgi’s taken.”

“They just don’t know who makes her unavailable,” Yuta concludes.

“You got that right.”

Yuta is still grinning when he opens the reading material. Not just because Doyoung just told him that Bae Joohyun’s dating a student – Seulgi, too, at that! – which is the best thing he’s heard today, but also because Doyoung looks less taut and stressed than earlier. Like he’s finally adapting to Yuta’s territory or something. Physically, of course. It would take longer than just an hour to have Doyoung even willing to adapt to Yuta’s whole presence.

For now, this is quite alright.

At that time, there’s a loud knock on Yuta’s door, and Taeyong’s voice is heard from the other side. “Hey, you guys in yet?”

Yuta looks over his shoulder. “Yeah, just open the door, it’s unlocked.”

When Taeyong walks in, his hair and face are damp with sweat, and he's looking really wrecked. He pauses, however, when he spots Yuta and Doyoung sitting across each other, clearly baffled that they’re not in the middle of tearing each other’s throat out like what he must’ve expected.

Yuta knows exactly what he’s thinking, and seemingly so does Doyoung, because before Taeyong could say anything Yuta yells, “You said no quarrel,” and Doyoung quips out a “We’ve agreed to be civil for the time being”. Both statement, said concurrently at the same time, befuddling as they are, seems to just add to Taeyong’s bewilderment. He just keeps on staring.

“Wow. Okay. Wow,” he finally says, putting both of his hands up. “What a major plot development.”

Yuta rolls his eyes. “Just sit your ass down, pretty boy.”

Taeyong obliges; he carefully seats himself next to Yuta, sliding the bag off his shoulder as he does. “Amazing,” he whispers under his breath, but Yuta catches it anyway. He elbows Taeyong midly on the ribs.

“What’s up with Ten’s Hi-Fi?” Doyoung asks, turning his laptop around so Taeyong could read the outline structure he’s written. “Did you get that fixed up?”

“What? No,” Taeyong says. He pulls the laptop nearer toward him. “It’s not Ten’s, it’s the studio’s, by the way. Ten doesn’t spend that much money on anything but frat parties and tuition fees, I tell you.”

“Unsurprising,” Doyoung comments. “So what did you do?”

“I called Youngho in and told him to deal with it.”

“But Youngho’s an IR student,” Yuta points out. “Why would you call him for that? You’d probably fare better if you just called Hansol.”

“Yeah? One problem, I don’t know him,” Taeyong says. “Not everyone knows everyone, Yuta.”

“Oh really now. You’re gonna use my popularity against me?”

Taeyong laughs. “Jesus Christ, soothe your ego down a bit.”

“Taeyong, I specifically remember you said I shouldn’t quarrel with him,” Doyoung interrupts. “So now you’re doing it in my place instead?”

Taeyong stops typing on the keyboard to look at Doyoung, gaze thick with surprise and disbelief. “I sincerely apologize, my dear Doyoung, I didn’t mean to snip your finite life obligation of pissing Yuta off whenever you have the chance, but seriously, guys. Stop talking and start working.”

Yuta sniggers, and so does Doyoung, but his fades quicker than Yuta’s. Now this is new – Doyoung kind of stood up for Yuta. Kind of, but not really, but somewhat. For once he attacks Taeyong, and not Yuta, and even though Yuta doesn’t know what the hell kind of things he could do with this information, it sort of pleases him. Again, sort of.

The rest of the hour plays out with Doyoung telling Yuta what to do – Yuta’s only good quality he could offer in this class is that he’s actually pretty good with vocabularies and their synonyms (thanks Thesaurus!) – to help make the essay appears, in Doyoung’s word, more dignified. Doyoung’s the actual brain of the group, Yuta will grudgingly admit, since he has all the right stuff inside of his head: the cosmic knowledge, functioning practicality, even some length of creativity despite how… inflexible he looks. Doyoung doesn’t really strike anyone as the “brain” type, more of the “efficient” type than anything, but he’s definitely qualified enough to give orders and have them followed.

Taeyong is better at editing things – he always has been – and pointing out small mistakes, before perfecting them. Really, they make a good team, except that Yuta doesn’t really want them to be since he’s supposed to hate Doyoung, and now they’re sort of acting like actual buddies. Which doesn’t really feel bad per se, but it’s causing quite a discomfort for his ego.

“Which...” Taeyong says later, unsure. “…is good?”

Yuta’s calling Taeyong and putting it on speaker as he does his homework. Stupid, he knows, since Yuta never does his homework until it’s due and calling Taeyong to talk about his dubious relationship with his supposed friend-enemy won’t suddenly inspire him to be an upstanding member of the college society. He says this thought aloud instead of actually agreeing to Taeyong’s statement.

“I don’t know why you’re complaining,” Taeyong says. His voice sounds even more tired from the phone – maybe he just got back home from the studio. Yuta finds that he barely cares. “I mean, you really need to get your head out of your ass. It’s not a bad thing, isn’t it, to talk to Doyoung like a normal person?”

“I am a normal person.”

“I assure you normal people don’t try to break into Joohyun’s office.”

“Christ,” Yuta groans. “I said I’m sorry, okay? It was my fault, I was the stupid one, I could’ve get suspended or worse, yeah, yeah, I know. That was like a year ago, let that shit go already, damn.”

“Actually, that was five months ago. And I wouldn’t be me if I don’t hold grudges,” Taeyong ponders out loud. Yuta could imagine that the pink-haired boy is shrugging now. “But fun fact – Doyoung doesn’t!”

“Doyoung doesn’t what?”

“Doyoung doesn’t hold grudges.”

“Ha!” Yuta snorts loudly. “On better days I could’ve believed you.”

“No, I’m serious. He doesn’t hold grudges,” Taeyong swears, like he’s a salesman promoting some weird shit on phone instead of talking about their mutual (debatable) friend’s traits. “I mean, yeah, he’s petty…”

“Then what’s the fucking difference.”

“It’s different, okay. Holding grudges means you’re ready to get back at them ten times worse should the chance arise. Being petty is just… well, being petty. Bringing some old shit up just to screw with you, but not meant to give you serious, long-lasting harm.”

“Are you implying,” Yuta says, very slowly and carefully. “That you want to give me serious, long-lasting harm for my stupid attempt to break into Joohyun’s office? Which, by the way, happened like, last fucking year?”

“It happened five months ago, Yuta.”

“So you’re still going to fuck me up?”

“Only if you’re asking for it,” Taeyong tells him. “Just don’t do anything stupid and maybe I won’t try to have Donghyuck poison you or something.”

“Well, in that case, if you want to use Donghyuck, you don’t even have to ask. He’s all ready to kill me, you know.”

“Yeah? Let me know when he’s changed your milk to bleach,” Taeyong says. “Talking about milk, will you please take Youngho out grocery shopping? Our fridge is empty and I’m really tired of Chinese takeouts.”

“Fine. Just don’t poison me.”

“Thanks, but no promises. Oh, and also, I couldn’t talk to you about it earlier today since Doyoung was there, but what was up with your messages last night?” Taeyong asks. Yuta likes that despite all of his edgy threats and whatnot, Taeyong is still such a considerate friend. “Were you drunk?”

“No, I wasn’t,” Yuta says, offended. “I don’t drink on weekdays.”

“Good, don’t be like Ten. But really, you sounded so unlike you. I thought Donghyuck hijacked your phone again… but it wasn’t embarrassing, just confusing.”

“I just,” Yuta says, blinking. What was he thinking about again yesterday? “I had this really weird convo with Hyuck and it got stuck on my mind. Also, you’re the only emotionally well-designed friend I have, so.”

Taeyong immediately coos. “Aw, is that right? Do you love me that much?”

“I hope your laptop crashes when you’re playing The Sims later,” Yuta deadpans. “See if that’ll do you some good, huh, not seeing Sim Jaehyun for awhile?”

“Ah, Yuta, you ruined this moment,” Taeyong says, tone back normal from the saccharine-sweet voice he’s just used. Now he just sounds dry. “Seriously, nobody says they love me anymore. Not Youngho, not you, not Doyoung, and especially not Jaehyun. I’m having an existential crisis right now and it’s all your fault.”

Yuta clicks his tongue impatiently, but he gives in. “Fine, I’m sorry. I love you, Lee Taeyong, my emotionally well-designed friend, my lifesaver, my tenderhearted, gorgeous editor. Can we please get back to my problem now?”

“That is so much better,” Taeyong says, exhaling a happy sigh. “So what kind of talk did you have with Hyuck?”

“Literally it was the most insignificant and puzzling conversation I’ve ever done with him, and Donghyuck’s done a lot of insignificant and puzzling shit before, so that’s something,” Yuta says. “I was saying how he was so whipped for Mark, and then he just… kind of shoots out that I’m whipped, too. Doesn’t make any damn sense, right?”

“This sounds familiar,” Taeyong comments. “Let me guess. He threatens to find out who your ass is pining on, even though you’re not really into someone right now.”

Yuta is amazed. “Are you psychic?”

“No,” Taeyong replies shortly. “I just had this conversation before.”

“Why are you so much closer to my roommate than me,” Yuta whines, though he’s not really that regretful. Taeyong and Donghyuck’s friendship is a strange one; Yuta doesn’t want to meddle with it in any way whatsoever. They’re both powerful emotional people in his life, and Yuta has enough problem as it is.

“Because I don’t treat him like a child,” Taeyong says with unmistakable satisfaction in his voice. “And also because he actually likes me.”

“Oh, you’re back to slandering me now?”

“Right. Sorry, you keep distracting me,” Taeyong mutters. “He could be right. Donghyuck, I mean. You must’ve been doing something weird at the time when he concluded that. He’s pretty sharp for a kid, you know. Maybe you really are pining on someone and you just don’t know it.”

“And Donghyuck, a seventeen years old teenager, somehow caught wind of this before I, the owner of the heart, even did?” Yuta says, snorting again at the end. How ridiculous this conversation is getting, he thinks. “Don’t you think that’s sorta absurd?”

“Evidently not, since he seems so hellbent on finding who the hell you’re actually pining for,” Taeyong says. “Do you… Does anybody come up in mind when you think about it?”

Yuta tries not to think. “Not really.”

“That usually means yes.”

“No,” Yuta says again, more certain this time. “I’m pretty sure I would notice if I’ve started crushing on someone, Taeyong.”

“Okay,” Taeyong says. Now it’s him who sounds unsure. “And it is absolutely coincidental that you called me to talk about you being civil with Doyoung… and also the idea of you pining on someone? It’s absolutely coincidental and definitely not connected?”

Yuta doesn’t get where Taeyong is going. “What? ‘Course not.”

“Mmkay, since you’re a pretty dense guy, Yuta, I’m actually insinuating that the one you’re pining on here could be… well, Doyoung.”

There’s a pause.

“No,” Yuta says, now horrified. “Absolutely not.”

“I’m just insinuating.”

“You made it sound like it’s a fact.”

“Is it a fact?” Taeyong asks. “Did it become a fact just now?”

“No, it’s not a fact,” Yuta insists. “Of all people, why Doyoung? He’s literally my least favorite guy in this place and you should know that the most. Also, last time I checked, we don’t fall in love with the people we hate, Taeyong.”

“Someone’s defensive,” Taeyong teases. “Also, you should check again. Affection doesn’t necessarily stem from everything pleasant. Elementary school boys “hate” the girls they like, don’t they?”

Yuta grits his teeth. “Yeah, well, I’m a college student.”

“With the mentality of a fifth grader.”

“Hey!”

“Okay, kidding aside, it’s just a possibility,” Taeyong finally declares. “Why don’t you just… I don’t know, think about it? If you want to. I mean, it’s your feelings, not mine. I can’t do shit about it.”

But Yuta doesn’t want to think about it. It’s really absurd, the idea of him liking Doyoung. It’s so absurd that Yuta doesn’t even want to believe it. Sure, they were civil earlier, but it was probably just a temporary truce. Nothing permanent. Yuta is sure the next time he sees Doyoung in class, when the guy’s not exhausted and stressed out by his college obligations, they will continue to ruin each other’s day like usual. Thinking about it now, Yuta’s really looking forward to it. Maybe a few good arguments with him will subdue this doubt that Taeyong and Donghyuck have planted inside of him.

Pining on Doyoung. Really. What a fucking joke.

However, it disappoints Yuta greatly that the argument he’s looking forward to the next Monday won’t come his way. Not only Doyoung arrives late to class that day (Joohyun gives him a look, but says nothing as Doyoung murmurs an apology and goes straight to his seat; Yuta mumbles, she’s playing favorites but Taeyong shushes him), he also spends the next thirty minutes sleeping on his desk. Yuta glances at Taeyong, asking for some sort of explanation, but Taeyong just shrugs and continues to write down Joohyun’s lecture. On a good day, Yuta would’ve taken this as an advantage – maybe give Doyoung’s chair a few good kicks – but taking into account that Doyoung hasn’t been himself lately, that he looks like shit when he walks in, and also because Yuta’s not that much of an asshole, he just sits quietly while watching a few strands of hair on the top of Doyoung’s head quiver from the wind.

He doesn’t even wake up when the bell rings and Taeyong closes his laptop loudly. Yuta continues to sit on his chair, looking at Taeyong, until the pink-haired boy just looks back at him.

“Wake him,” he whispers.

“What?” Yuta demands. “Why me?”

“Just because,” Taeyong says, before giving Yuta a small, knowing smile. He then grabs his bag and dashes past to the door.

“Piece of shit,” Yuta curses out loud, but Taeyong has already gone.

He takes a deep breath, hesitates, and then walks over to Doyoung’s desk. It’s fine, he assures himself. Doyoung would probably do the same for him if Taeyong had asked him instead. It’s fine.

“Hey man,” Yuta says, poking Doyoung’s shoulder with his index finger. The guy’s sleeping with his face hidden in his arms. “It’s lunch time. D’you wanna stay the night here or what?”

Doyoung stirs and looks up. Yuta immediately notices that some of his hair is sticking up on his forehead, and that it’s seriously cute. Mostly because the Doyoung he’s seen before this was always neat, collected, and functional. Not this cluttered, disoriented Doyoung. It’s a new experience.

“What time is it?” he asks, voice cracking because he hasn’t spoken in awhile.

“Lunch.”

Doyoung glowers. “Not helping.”

Yuta checks his phone. “Half past twelve then, asshole.”

“Great,” Doyoung says. And then, much to Yuta’s surprise, he just drops his head back on his hands and closes his eyes again. “Leave me be for a couple more minutes. Tell Taeyong I’ll be there in a sec.”

“So is it minute or sec,” Yuta points out, but Doyoung just grunts. Then his breath evens out and his shoulders relax as he falls back asleep.

Yuta gawps, unsure of what to do. He just stands there doing nothing for the next few seconds, before he sinks himself back down to one of the chair and starts playing with his phone. He’s not sure of what he’s doing, or why exactly he’s doing it, but instead of dwelling on that, Yuta decides to just let his body do whatever it wants. If his body wants to wait for Doyoung until he wakes up, then whatever the fuck his brain wants to say doesn’t matter.

He’s willing to forgo his ego for once, even.

He’s just sitting there for around fifteen minutes until Doyoung wakes up again, rubbing his eyes as he does, before spotting Yuta on the chair next to him. If he’s surprised to see that Yuta is still there, he’s good at hiding it.

“Well,” Doyoung finally croaks out, after he’s just looking at Yuta while not saying anything. “Now Taeyong will be wondering where the hell the both of us are.”

Yuta shrugs. “Eh, does that matter?”

“Not really, no.”

Doyoung’s voice is uncharacteristically lenient, or maybe it just feels that way because Doyoung has never talked like this to Yuta. More than civil even, he’s now being gentle, like he’s talking to a small animal. Yuta finds that he doesn’t really mind this. It does feel weird, though.

“Do you want to go to lunch now?” Yuta inquires. “Or do you want to continue napping? Because if you want, you could.” He’s not believing his own words right now, because he’s definitely implying that he will wait for Doyoung, again.

“No, I gotta eat,” Doyoung decides. “I have choir at two, I have to fill up.”

“Hardworking,” Yuta remarks. “If that’s the case, wanna head to lunch?”

Which is how they end up walking together to the cafeteria, side by side, though Doyoung carefully keep them apart by a few inches – but not the point. Yuta still busies himself with his phone as he walks and Doyoung just stares right forward, not even giving him a glance or anything. Every few seconds Doyoung will scratch his head and mess up his own hair in the process, sending more stray strands into disarray.

“You seriously look like shit,” Yuta finally says, when Doyoung stops by his locker to jam his books in. “Have you ever thought that maybe you’re biting more than you can chew right now?”

“Believe me, I have,” Doyoung says. “But don’t let it rattle you, Yuta, I’m good at chewing.”

There it is again – the Yuta bomb. Yuta stares straight at the back of Doyoung’s pale neck, his mind empty yet still trying to process the way things are happening around him. He’s trying his best to comprehend this, really, but the only explanation that comes up is that Doyoung’s never himself when he’s so fucked by life and all that comes with it.

He doesn’t point it out this time, and Doyoung doesn’t seem to realize it, either. When he’s done arranging his books and notes, he slams the locker door into a loud close with an equally sluggish face when he walked in the class this morning. Yuta doesn’t feel like he has the heart to mock his uncharacteristic expression today.

Jaehyun looks horrorstruck when he sees Yuta and Doyoung coming in together and then sit next to each other on the circular table, all without a single insult exchanged. Taeyong just chews on his bottom lip and holds back a smile, flipping a piece of sliced tomato indolently with his fork, while Youngho raises an eyebrow. He also doesn’t say anything.

“Okay, obviously…” Jaehyun begins. “Obviously something’s not right here.”

“Yeah, your head,” Yuta says before Jaehyun could specifically define what’s “not right”. “Lay off for now, kid.”

Taeyong and Jaehyun exchange looks that definitely says ‘something is wrong but we should leave it be’. Yuta basically just admitted to that and now he kind of wants to smack his own face against the smooth tabletop.

“Okay then,” Jaehyun says mildly. He continues playing with his straw, while Youngho’s gaze drops back down to his book and he starts flipping the pages again. “If you say so, man. By the way, listen…”

Jaehyun pulls out a schedule paper from his bag and hands it to Yuta, before they both start conversing about the upcoming practice matches. Taeyong leans forward with his chin on his hand, watching over Yuta and Jaehyun discuss possible threats and strategies. It doesn’t go past Yuta how Taeyong’s body seems to lean more toward Jaehyun’s direction than Youngho’s, though it doesn’t seem to be done on purpose. Doyoung, meanwhile, just stays quiet on his chair, leaning back and munching on a piece of pear. Exactly like a rabbit, if Yuta might add.

Taeyong finishes his salad soon after and stands to do away with his empty tray. Youngho and Jaehyun follows not long after – though Yuta definitely catches Youngho throwing a grin at him when he left, before most definitely glancing at Doyoung. Yuta doesn’t know if he wants to know what that really means.

Doyoung wordlessly hands his empty tray to Yuta when the latter finally stands up, deeming that two minutes of silence with just Doyoung around the table is getting a bit much.

“Favor?” Doyoung finally asks, but his tone is pretty much exacting. Not that Yuta will deny him, anyway, since he looks so drained through and through. He lets Doyoung pile his tray on top of his without saying anything. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he doesn’t really know what to say. “Sure”? “’Kay”? “Leave it to me”? For once, Yuta thinks keeping quiet will do him some good.

He later wonders why he did it – why he became mild just for Doyoung’s sake, so unlike himself. Pity, mostly, but pity doesn’t cover all of it. He’s not sure he wants to know what other feeling is there other than pity, but he has his suspicion: a rather outlandish sense of solidarity. He doesn’t consult to Taeyong this time; he feels like he doesn’t need to add to Taeyong’s already-there notion.

Fortunately, Yuta doesn’t have much time to ponder over this and make himself even more mixed up, as finals come seemingly sooner than expected. Yuta’s a third year student, so he knows the finals inside and out, basically, but he just can’t ditch it. Especially not due to stupid things like his own unkempt, unexplored feelings.

So Yuta conveniently ignores his thoughts for the rest of the month.

Except that a day before exam week ends, Doyoung appears in front of his door, drenched from head to toe to his bag that’s filled with books. Yuta’s first thought was “why the hell are you here”, but apparently his mouth has other plans, because he blurts out, “What the hell happened to you?”

“It’s raining outside, Yuta,” Doyoung says in an absolutely exasperated tone, irritated and drained at the same time. “And I just had class in the west campus building. Can you connect the dots now?”

“Wow, cheery,” Yuta comments, though his words aren’t as sharp as he thought they sounded inside of his head. “I connected the dots, but not to the point that might explain why you’re here.”

“I don’t want to walk all the way up to the third floor. Let me crash.”

“Taeyong’s room is literally next to the entrance hall,” Yuta exclaims in disbelief, though there’s a bit of wonder there, too.

There’s hesitancy in Doyoung’s eyes. “Taeyong’s still in the studio, and I don’t know Youngho.”

“Oh, so you know me, then?”

“I know both you and Donghyuck, so it doesn’t matter. Whoever opens the door, I’m in.”

Yuta is once again rendered speechless (Doyoung has been doing that to him a lot, if he’s being honest). He just stares at Doyoung, at every strand of hair dripping water onto his nose and brows, to his damp shirt and jacket that cling to his body like leech. Doyoung is so fucking skinny, he thinks, and without any more thought after that he just shuffles away from the door and let his rather-debatable mortal enemy come in his safest zone.

And if his ears are in the right, too, Doyoung says, “Thanks, I owe you one.”

And Yuta, equally as struck as Doyoung’s wet, spiky hair, replies with an uncharacteristically timid, “Yeah, no biggie.”

Doyoung has the decency to peel off his drenched jacket and shirt before dropping his face down the couch. Yuta doesn’t actually mind if he just drops dead and pouring rainwater wherever he wants (though Donghyuck would definitely mind), but now the sight of Doyoung’s even-skinnier-than-he-expected back is quite unsettling him, somewhat.

“Have you been eating?” Yuta asks, out of his usual consciousness. He must be high as well if he’s suddenly showing this much worry. Not even Donghyuck gets that much privilege. “Like, real food. Good, warm, homemade food? At least hot delivery food?”

“Too tired to eat,” Doyoung says, voice muffled. “Do you know at what time I get home everyday, with choir and all that shit?”

(Doyoung curses a lot nowadays, too, now that Yuta thinks about it. He kinda likes it. Makes Doyoung seem more not straight-laced.)

“Five?” Yuta tentatively suggests.

“Eight. Eight fucking PM, Yuta. And I still have to do my homeworks after that because my stupid past self took too much elective courses for my own fucking good,” Doyoung says, ending this with a sigh. “So you can see why eating well isn’t included in my schedule lately.”

Yuta shoves his hands inside of his pockets, eyes still on Doyoung’s bony shoulders. “Aren’t you cold, man?”

“No, not really,” he replies.

“D’you want me to get you some blankets? Lend you a shirt, maybe?”

Doyoung suddenly lifts his head up to look at Yuta, who’s still standing near the door, unsure of what to do with his (supposedly) mortal enemy’s sudden stopover. He’s looking straight at him, dark eyes narrowing under wet hair and raised brows.

“You’re being sweet lately, it’s weird,” Doyoung comments, and it’s like a cold, hard slap across of Yuta’s face.

“Like I don’t fucking know that already,” Yuta blurts out, only to regret it later, when Doyoung’s brow raises even higher. “I’m not a complete asshole, Doyoung. I can see when people could use less of my hostility.”

“Oh, so you do realize that you’re pretty hostile,” Doyoung says. Yuta hates that he just has to accompany that sentence with a small smile, like it’s a tiny bit of fact that only they share. It’s not – probably everyone in campus, at least all third-years mostly, know that Yuta and Donghyuck have the sharpest tongues in the whole grounds, and that going against them is suicide basically.

Yuta shrugs, deciding not to answer that. Instead, he walks into of his room and grabs a piece of shirt he hasn’t used in weeks from his closet. It still smells pretty clean to him, so he throws it at Doyoung, who catches it surprisingly effortlessly.

“Hope it fits,” Yuta says.

Doyoung snorts. “Won’t I turn popular and overenthusiastic if I wear this?”

“Fuck off, seriously, you ungrateful—”

Doyoung lets out a dry laugh, but he doesn’t say anything else. Instead, he quietly puts on Yuta’s shirt, and Yuta sees from the corner of his eyes how even his smallest shirt looks big on Doyoung, with the collar draping down his shoulders like curtains, exposing a bit of skin, and the sleeves are a bit too long over his elbows, making him look really, really silly and out of place.

And also, kinda cute.

He nearly rips the ramen package he’s taken from the drawer in half. Fuck. Yuta actually bangs his head on the kitchen counter right after he thought that. With a throbbing head, he turns away, and catches Doyoung looking at him weirdly.

“The hell did you do that for?” he demands.

“Dirty thoughts,” Yuta mindlessly replies. “Gotta get them out.”

An awkward pause.

“Dirty thoughts,” Doyoung repeats flatly. “Yes, of course. Getting them out by battering your head on a hard surface will definitely be safe. You won’t get a concussion and miss Joohyun’s next class or anything.”

Yuta hums. “You should drop some classes, by the way,” he says, desperately gripping at every other topics he could find just so he won’t have to face the fact that he actually found Doyoung cute. “You’ll die.”

“Oh, please. You must be exaggerating.”

Yuta frowns. “I was a second-year once, man. Believe me, all that electives will just drain your energy needlessly. They’ll go straight into the dustbin once you start your next semester.”

A long pause ensues. Doyoung stares at Yuta while he talks, hands on his thighs.

“Wow,” he finally says, after Yuta starts thinking that maybe Doyoung was thinking how he could make fun of Yuta for being decent once. But no, no, Doyoung doesn’t make fun of him. Again, surprising. “I forgot that you’re actually older than me.”

“Only by a year, that barely makes a difference.”

“From the way we have things going, people would think the opposite, though.”

Yuta snorts, crossing his arms. “Obviously, they’ll think you’re the older one. I don’t mind that too much, really.”

“Naturally. But I can’t drop my electives, Yuta. I like them all.”

Yuta rolls his eyes. Doyoung is unbelievable.

“Continue working yourself to the bone, then,” he says, turning back to check on the ramen boiling on the stove. “You should know your own limit. Not me.”

“Sure,” Doyoung says. “But I do think about skipping classes sometimes. Sounds like it could be fun, you know. Ten says so.”

Yuta flicks pieces of dry noodle off his stove. “Why not do it, then? Could do you some good. To get some time off, you have to sacrifice some things. I think at least you should be able to afford that.”

“If you think I could just walk straight up to Taeyong and say ‘hey, I’m gonna miss the class on purpose, will you come with me’ you’re dead wrong, Yuta.”

“Fuck no. Won’t he disown you?”

“Exactly.”

Yuta hums again, not sure what to say. The ramen is now boiling inside of the pot. He stirs it blankly, focusing his eyes on the reddish broth of the cooking food, and then Doyoung says, “How about you?”

“How about me what?”

“You won’t disown me if I ask you to skip class with me.”

Yuta doesn’t really register it at first, just letting Doyoung’s words pass him by. Then, for no reason, he lets his palm press against the fucking hot as fuck pan and he yells out loud, ladle clinking loudly against the countertop as he drops it.

“Fuck,” he screams. “What the hell, Yuta!”

He’s so intelligently angry at himself.

Doyoung doesn’t sound too impressed when he rushes over to Yuta’s side, right on time to save the ladle from sinking in the soup. “You’re overreacting,” Doyoung says quietly, hooking the ladle safely back to the lip of the pot. “I know we’re not supposed to be friends, but still.”

“No, it’s not that, fuck,” Yuta says, grabbing Doyoung by the wrist. Why he does that, he doesn’t even know. It’s just that Doyoung’s cool skin feels nice against his burning one. “This doesn’t have anything to do with what we’re supposed and not supposed to be.”

“Really? Good then. Because thanks to your suggestion, now I really want to do it.”

“Do what?”

Doyoung looks at Yuta again, and just now Yuta suddenly realizes how close they are; his fingers are still wrapped around Doyoung’s wrist, while their arms pressed together lightly. Doyoung’s face is only a few inches away from Yuta’s, and even if their heights are almost the same, Doyoung has to crane his neck a bit to catch Yuta’s gaze, and it strangely eases him that he’s a bit taller than Doyoung even if it’s only by a few single digits.

If, Yuta thinks, heavily emphasizing on the word if, head pounding as hard as his heart inside of his ribcages, if I lean in, I could kiss him.

“Sacrifice some things to get a few time off?” Doyoung says, raising an eyebrow. “That’s what you suggested earlier, wasn’t it? Coming from you, it wasn’t such a bad idea.”

“Hm. Of course it wasn’t bad.”

“But since it would be boring to skip class alone,” Doyoung continues, still letting Yuta grip his hand. “And Taeyong would rather be dead than be seen missing out classes… you’ll come with me, right?”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll come with you.”

Yuta’s answer is so quick and sure, it surprises not only Doyoung, but also himself. Doyoung’s already-wide eyes widen even more, and Yuta stares blankly at a wet, faint blotch on the tip of his nose. He’s still stunned by how mild he’s become, how compliant, how considerate he is just now – all because of Doyoung. Stupid, stupid Doyoung that he used to hate, and then kinda-hate, and then… he’s not so sure anymore.

“Great.” Doyoung’s voice is surprisingly steady, though Yuta hopes that slight happiness he’s heard isn’t just his imagination. “Let’s skip Joohyun’s Friday hour.”

“Sure. I don’t feel like submitting my essay, anyway, it’s shit.”

“Game on.”

Before Yuta loses the moment, he lets go of Doyoung’s wrist and moves his hand to wipe that wet blotch on his nose with his thumb. Doyoung stays still as he pulls his hand off his face, watching every muscles in Doyoung’s face seem to freeze and then relax.

“What?” he then asks.

“Water,” Yuta shortly replies.

“Oh. Thanks.”

Doyoung, now free of Yuta’s hand, paddles back to the couch and sits down, leaning his head on the armrest, back facing him. He mumbles something about how he’ll help mop the damp floor where his jacket lies later, but Yuta doesn’t listen to him. He’s still staring at the side of his palm that he’s used to wipe that stupid wet spot on Doyoung’s face.

Yuta feels like he doesn’t need to inform Taeyong about this.

Taeyong calls him in the middle of class.

Well, his class, since both Doyoung and Yuta are now sitting in front of Yuta’s TV, arguing over the next movies they should watch. While Doyoung keeps his stance and insists on watching Train to Busan (which Yuta has watched countless of times with Donghyuck before) because it gives him the “necessary thrill he lacks in his daily life”. Yuta argues by saying that at least he should’ve picked World War Z.

“Where the hell are you?” Taeyong’s loud voice is uncommon, and Yuta turns it on speaker mode just in case he’s gonna start yelling. Doyoung has to learn the consequences, too. “I can’t believe you skip Joohyun’s class, of all things, asshole! And Doyoung! He also didn’t come in today, I’m all alone, screw all of you, honestly—”

“Yeah, in fact,” Yuta begins, but Doyoung interrupts, “Hi, Taeyong.”

“What the fuck,” Taeyong curses out loud. Yuta imagines how his phone must’ve nearly slipped from his fingers the moment he heard Doyoung’s voice. “What the actual fuck.”

“Are you openly cursing in Joohyun’s classroom?” Doyoung asks, an actual expression of concern painted on his face. “Won’t she suspend you for that?”

“Doubt that, since Taeyong is Seulgi’s designated partner for this year’s charity stage,” Yuta chimes in. “She won’t do anything to him if she’s smart.”

“Bathroom break,” Taeyong says. “I can’t believe you two ditched me.”

“We figured you would like to keep your honor student status unsoiled,” Yuta helpfully proposes. “So we didn’t include you. We considered you, but we didn’t include you.”

“What about Doyoung’s honor student status?” Taeyong demands. “You know if people spot you two hanging out when you’re supposed to have class, they’ll immediately blame Yuta for leading Doyoung the wrong path? And soon, they’ll blame me, too?”

“Take a chill pill, this isn’t high school,” Yuta remarks dismissively.

“I hate to admit this, but he’s right,” Doyoung adds. “English Composition won’t have too much impact to my major.”

“Joohyun will have much impact in your life once she finds out you’re ditching,” Taeyong deadpans, and Yuta feels like he could imagine his friend’s expression right now, standing blankly in front of the bathroom sink down the hall of Joohyun’s classroom.

“So don’t let her find out,” Yuta says lightly. “We’re friends, right?”

“I’m blocking you all.”

“Love you too, pretty. See you later!”

“You—“

Yuta hits the end button before Taeyong could finish his sentence. Knowing well that he’ll pay in full price later, he looks at Doyoung.

“Do you know a good delivery place?”

Doyoung fishes out his phone from his pocket.

“Only if you’ll be the one who picks it up later.”

If someone told Yuta six months ago that he can spend one full day with Doyoung in his living room, eating takeouts and bubble teas, watching corny zombie movies and tacky mystery dramas when they’re supposed to have class without any of them tearing each other apart, he would punch that person right in the face. The old Yuta would’ve scrapped the idea as soon as it was conceived, because it was just so impossible to do so, to be with Doyoung doing such a normal thing like… hanging out. And skipping classes, but mostly hanging out.

“The thing with zombies is,” Doyoung begins, after they finished Train to Busan and is now switching to World War Z, deciding to play it fair between his and Yuta’s choices. “It’s actually a way out.”

“What?” Yuta asks, not sure he gets where Doyoung is heading. “You high off something?”

“No, I’m actually serious,” Doyoung says. Since the last fifteen minutes, he’s been watching with his head leaned back on the couch. He’s been so quiet that Yuta actually thought he was asleep. “If there’s suddenly an outbreak, for a depressed person it’s a way out. We won’t even try to survive, we’ll just… walk out and let them eat us.”

“Dude.” Yuta grabs the remote and pauses the movie; Doyoung’s recent claim is just so surprisingly ghastly that he feels the need to stop their activity. “That is nasty. Are you depressed? Do you need help?”

Doyoung laughs out loud, and Yuta is glad that there’s a bit of humor there. “Nah, no. I’m fine. Exhausted, but not depressed. Think about it, though. Zombie apocalypse would be a perfect answer for a lot of people.”

“Well, I guess,” Yuta finally says, resuming the movie.

“I guess you’ll try to survive,” Doyoung says. “Someone like you – the great, vigorous Nakamoto Yuta. Won’t settle down unless you become the hero of everyone else. Mark your worth to the whole world.”

Doyoung’s words might come out as simple observation, but it hits Yuta a bit too close to home because honestly, there’s little in that sentence that Yuta will deny.

“Is that a compliment? Or an insult?”

“A bit of both.”

Yuta snorts. “Thanks. Though I definitely look like the guy who would die first in a horror movie because of how boisterous and brash I am.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Doyoung says with another small laugh. “Don’t worry, if you turn into a zombie, I’ll kill you mercifully.”

“How does one even kill mercifully?”

“Like, a clean shot on the head?” Doyoung tentatively says, making a finger gun with his hand and tapping it to Yuta’s arm. The contact makes the hair on the back of Yuta’s neck stand inexplicably. “Leave your whole body intact to rot.”

“Well,” Yuta says. “That won’t be such a bad way to go.”

“If I turn into zombie, though,” Doyoung continues. “Do me a favor and let me jump on my exes first. Then you can kill me.”

Yuta bursts out laughing. “What did they do to earn them death,” he asks in between snorts. “Did they cheat on you or something?”

“They’re just straight up assholes. Totally deserve getting their heads bitten off by a zombie,” Doyoung says. “Though it’s a shame I won’t realize eating them off.”

“You know, you’re pretty gruesome for a honor student,” Yuta comments. “Is this a side you recently developed or something in-built I just didn’t know about?”

“Not my fault you never feel the need to properly explore my personality, Yuta,” Doyoung replies lightheartedly. “Though to be fair, we never really had the time to.”

There’s a long pause between them as Yuta lets more of Doyoung’s words sink into him. The fights and arguments they had months and months ago seem to look so inconsequential now that they’re both here, ditching both of their responsibilities. Yuta would never see this day coming, not even in his dreams.

When he checks over his shoulder, Doyoung’s focus is still fixated on the TV. His eyes seem so heavy that he’s seriously looking like he could fall asleep any moment.

“You know,” Yuta says again, now in a very small voice that he’s sure Doyoung will not hear. “You’re not so bad.”

He fully expects Doyoung to not hear it, since he’s already talking in such a light voice and Doyoung’s consciousness seems to be dwindling. Which is why he’s almost jumping out of his skin when Doyoung replies, “Right back at you.”

After Yuta manages to control his surprise, he chokes out, “Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“Even if I tried to break into Joohyun’s office that one time?”

Doyoung’s hot palm smacks against his forearm, but it isn’t a hard slap. “I still think you’re a dumbass for doing that.”

“Okay, but I’m not so bad, right.”

“Aside from your recklessness, I think I can tolerate you better nowadays.”

“Wow,” Yuta says, genuinely from the bottom of his heart, if it even exists (it does, since his chest is very warm now). “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me yet.”

“Maybe if you stop being so hostile everytime—“

“I am not hostile,” Yuta defensively interrupts, hand grabbing Doyoung’s shoulder again, of all things. “Yeah, well, I used to be, but I’ve grown mild these days!” Because of you, he wants to add, but doesn’t.

“I noticed,” Doyoung says flatly. “Which is why I’m complimenting you now.”

Yuta swallows back the bite he’s reserved in case Doyoung tries to insult him again, but he didn’t. He also doesn’t know what to answer – obviously thanks to Doyoung’s strange talent of silencing him with no effort whatsoever.

Though, now that he thinks about it, being complimented by Doyoung doesn’t feel too bad, too.

Though, now that he thinks about it, the idea of him liking Doyoung might not be that far off from reality.

Yuta isn’t too surprised when he sees Doyoung in the group the next day Ten asks them to come along on a drinking night. With how stressful it is for Doyoung lately, especially since choir just gets even busier the moment exam week ended, really, he isn’t surprised. In fact, he’s pretty curious to see what a drunk Doyoung would be like. He thinks of a way to announce this without letting it slip that maybe he’s been paying too much attention to Doyoung recently.

“So honor students do drink,” Yuta begins later, when they’re both seated across of each other, free of anyone else’s supervision. Both Taeil and Ten are busy ordering drinks in the bar, and Yuta tries not to think about how their fingers are only inches apart from each other on top of the smooth wooden table.

It takes Doyoung awhile to answer, seemingly mulling over his possible reactions he looks straight at his face. Yuta tries to guess what Doyoung is thinking while he’s looking at Yuta’s face like that – another array of insults, or more compliments, maybe? – but he can never see what’s inside. Not that he’s trying hard, but still.

“You really need to drop off the honor students stuff,” Doyoung mutters, frowning hard. “I’m just careful with my works. I’m not nearly as dedicated as Taeyong. So I can’t really be called an honor student.”

“Okay, Mr. I Am Not An Honor Student But Still Very Careful With My Works,” Yuta says. “Have you ever gotten yourself drunk, though?”

Doyoung lets Yuta’s obvious sarcasm slide. “No. Might try tonight, if Taeil will help me get back home.”

“I won’t,” Taeil declares calmly, suddenly appearing from behind their booth with a few bottles of Corona in his hands. “Not because I don’t want to, Doyoungie, but because I’ll probably be busy with Youngho.”

Doyoung groans loudly. “You two lovebirds really need to get a room.”

“We are,” Taeil casually retorts. “Which is why I won’t be available until morning.”

“Ugh.” Yuta scrunches his nose, but he ends up laughing, anyway. Taeil is honest and mild-mannered, and quite an interesting roommate of Doyoung’s. It also amuses Yuta to no end that this quiet, awkward-looking Psychology student is dating Seo Youngho, which is the very definition of “rowdy city boy”. “Don’t worry much and have fun, hyung. I’ll take Doyoung home if I have to.”

“Really?” Doyoung looks curiously astonished.

“Thanks, I’m counting on you, Yuta. They’ll be here soon, by the way,” Taeil says. “Taeyong and co.”

“Ah,” Yuta says, rubbing his nose. “We’ll have to prepare ourselves then, Doyoung. He’s probably still holding a grudge over us for yesterday.”

“He won’t yell at us in front of Jaehyun,” Doyoung says. “Not that Jaehyun will care if Taeyong beheads us in front of him – he’ll probably think it’s hot – but, yeah. Small chance.”

“What did you guys do?” Taeil curiously leans his head in, gaze switching between Yuta and Doyoung consecutively. “It’s hard to piss off Taeyongie, usually.”

“We ditched class yesterday and left him alone,” Yuta explains, nodding at Doyoung. “My new best friend over here needs some time off his shitty classes.”

“I’ll tell Joohyun you said her class is shitty,” Ten chimes in, sliding next to Yuta and grins at them all. “Just kidding, I hate her just as much as you do.”

“I don’t hate Joohyun,” Doyoung says, frowns relaxing as Taeil helps him open a bottle.

“’Course you don’t, since Joohyun likes you,” Yuta cuts him off.

“Correction, she’s careful around me,” Doyoung retorts without losing a beat. “That doesn’t necessarily mean she likes me. She’s just afraid I might give a few bad words on her to Seulgi. Which is honestly ridiculous, since I’m not the type of person who would do that.”

Yuta suddenly remembers something that happened nearly half a year ago, when Doyoung caught him trying to sneak into Joohyun’s office. He didn’t rat him out back then, even though he totally could. He covered for him, even though he didn’t know Yuta and Yuta was a dumbass jerk who didn’t see the true peril of his reckless action until months later. Doyoung was protective from the get go.

“Oh yeah,” Yuta comments, and it surprises him that his voice isn’t as dry as he expected. He sounds genuinely appreciative, now. “You’re really not.”

Unless Yuta’s eyes are deceiving him, or he’s in instant need of a pair of glasses – the tip of Doyoung’s ears turn red and he starts fiddling with his nails.

“Wow,” Taeil remarks, though not giving out any context of what he’s wow-ing at, still switching gaze from Yuta to Doyoung. Though, remembering his major, Yuta suddenly wonders if he can see as well as Yuta does that there is something tremendously uncharacteristic happening between the both of them. He probably notices it better than Yuta, even.

“You guys are so awfully chummy today,” Ten points out. “Did you guys mend relationship? Oh, or did you guys started dating?”

“Ten,” Taeil and Doyoung say at the same time; Doyoung with a horrified expression on his face, while Taeil with something akin to exasperation, like Ten has just crossed the line he’s very clearly told not to cross.

“What?” Ten looks offended that both of his roommates chided him at once (which, Yuta thinks, has got to happen at least twice a day). “How many times do you think I’ve seen my friends hook up with each other and suddenly become a whole different person? You included!” He now points at Taeil, who deliberately ignores him by looking the other way.

“We’re – we’re friends,” Doyoung says. “For now.”

“For now,” Yuta echoes, not really sure if he should decipher the meaning of those last two words as simply “currently” or that Doyoung is expecting more of them in the future. Yuta isn’t even sure what to expect. Just for the sake of it, he takes a big gulp of Corona right from the bottle, willing everything inside of his head to go muddier, though he knows his high alcohol tolerance won’t make it much different.

At that moment, Yuta is saved from thinking more about the matter when Youngho, along with Taeyong and Jaehyun behind them. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Yuta that Jaehyun and Taeyong are basically glued on each other, their shoulders pressing together with Taeyong’s arm linked to Jaehyun’s. Yuta chews on his bottom lip, biting back a smile, and also like, a shitton of teasing remarks he could throw at them (also so Taeyong won’t remember that he and Doyoung ditched him yesterday).

Once Doyoung has spotted Taeyong, he raises his hand at him and says loudly, “Taeyong, you’re really, really late.” He then pats on the empty seat next to him.

Taeyong releases his hold on Jaehyun and slides himself in between Taeil and Doyoung. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t know you were here.”

Yuta grins. “If he knew he would’ve taken longer.” Maybe if Yuta could lead everyone else to think that their new relationship isn’t so abnormal after all, he can think better and freer of it later on. Alone. Not in between these meddling idiots that he calls his dearest friends.

Doyoung makes an annoyed sound. “Shut up, Yuta, you’re drunk.”

“Am not, Doyoung. We haven’t even been here for long. You look like you’re starting to get tipsy, though.”

“What was that?” Doyoung challenges, and as if they’re sharing the same thoughts, they both grab the nearest glasses to them and chug the content down like their lives depend on it. He feels his inside getting warmer from the alcohol, and feels like he can sense both of Jaehyun and Taeyong’s stares on him, but he feels like he can barely spare a single fuck.

When the glass leaves his lips, Yuta catches Doyoung’s eyes, needlessly and enigmatically amused by the depth of his narrowing eyes and thin lashes, and finally thinks, shit, I am pining.

The next thing he remembers thinking is: For how long?

He definitely didn’t like Doyoung when they first met. He definitely didn’t like Doyoung whenever they just went at each other’s throat the next three or four months after. He most definitely didn’t like Doyoung when Taeyong was always so readily siding with him, always seemingly leaving him out alone to survive. He has always been impressed by Doyoung’s clever arguments, yes, but that doesn’t mean anything. Not when it comes to romantic and sexual attractions alike.

Yuta is so lost in his own revelation that he can barely register Taeyong and Jaehyun’s conversation next to him. He can feel Jaehyun’s tension rising from his own skin, but he doesn’t let it take his focus – instead, he looks at Doyoung, who is now face-down on the table, burying his face in his skinny arms, letting his dark hair falls over his hands like super soft sheets. The redness around his ears are very visible now.

A quite intoxicated Ten makes an attempt to pull Yuta into his conversation (because Taeil has gone off somewhere along with Youngho, Yuta suddenly notices). He doesn’t refuse, thinking that maybe an actual conversation, albeit done with a drunk person, can help him clear off his mind. Which is obviously a scam, since if alcohol couldn’t do it, Ten won’t do, either.

Yuta is actually enjoying the chat until he glances and sees Jaehyun kissing Taeyong – he almost drops the glass he’s holding – with Taeyong looking so fucking smug while he’s at it. As an instinctive reflex, he groans out a loud, “Ugh, guys, can we not?”

Though of course, none of the two pays him any heed. It feels like eternity waiting for them to just “peel off each other already, for fuck’s sake”, and when Taeyong finally pulls away first, still looking so haughty like he’s just become the world’s greatest ruler or something, Yuta smacks his hand in front of Jaehyun’s chest. He is so not reliving that moment again, no matter how much of a dreamy moment it is for them.

“Jesus, could you guys at least wait until you’re home before you decided to do that?” he protests, still holding his hand on Jaehyun’s chest.

“What’s wrong with kissing in a bar?” Taeyong asked him, tone dry, but he’s still smiling so widely Yuta is afraid his lips might tear right in half. “Youngho and Taeil were making out in the fucking library, cut me some slack.”

Ah, yeah, Yuta has heard about that, but it’s not the point.

“Yeah, but Youngho is Youngho, he’s already screwed in the head,” Yuta said, shaking his head in disbelief to make his point stronger. For no apparent reason, he jabs his finger on Doyoung’s unconscious head. “You were supposed to be, I don’t know, more appropriate? I didn’t even get to kiss this asshole yet, and I’m pretty sure I’ve been pining on him longer than Jaehyun having a crush on your ungrateful ass. You’re all unfair.”

Yuta doesn’t really comprehend what he’s saying, but it feels right; it doesn’t clash with his inner thoughts, it goes hand in hand with his feelings. He does want to kiss Doyoung, now that he thinks about it. The idea doesn’t seem so foreign now as it would have looked last month, for one. He also knows Doyoung longer than Jaehyun has known Taeyong, so naturally, his affection should be deeper than theirs, no matter how befuddling it is.

Taeyong mutters something under his breath that suspiciously sounds like “first come first served”, while Jaehyun just stares dumbly at Yuta, blinking his eyes emptily.

“I don’t remember telling you anything about my feelings for Taeyong. Was it Youngho?”

Yuta is very tempted to smack Jaehyun in the face, but he knows that won’t be such a good idea now that Taeyong has officially marked the kid as his (there would be hell to pay if Yuta dares to abuse Jaehyun, no doubt). Still, it is unbelievably maddening that Jaehyun didn’t even consider the possibility that maybe his affection for Taeyong wasn’t as veiled as he thought, or the fact that Taeyong was so obviously crushing back on him that it’s painful to see. They were mutually pining on each other anyway, why did they have to go the roundabout way to get there?

“Nobody has to tell me. It was damn obvious,” Yuta says wryly. Jaehyun deserves a good hard slap, but not when Taeyong is around.

“Oh,” Jaehyun says dumbly. “Oh, I see.”

Yeah, what else could you say, dumbass, Yuta thinks, reluctantly peeling his gaze away from Taeyong and Jaehyun, who are now starting to look at each other like they’re the last people on earth or something. He rubs his temple, feeling irritated for no reason other than how lucky all of his friends are, with their respective, equally-liking-them-back partners.

Taeyong suddenly looks at Yuta as soon as Jaehyun's gone to the bathroom. “By the way,” he says, catching Yuta’s attention, because he sounds pretty sober for someone who looks drunk. He’s probably pretending to lure Jaehyun in, anyway. Taeyong may look docile, but he’s a fox in a sheep clothing. Yuta knows this from experience. “Joohyun gave us a bunch of homeworks yesterday.”

“Do I look like I care?” Yuta says.

Taeyong doesn’t look baffled by Yuta’s response. “No, but I know someone who does,” he calmly says, and he nods his head at an unconscious Doyoung. “When he wakes up sober tomorrow, he’ll panic. I can guarantee.”

(Jaehyun silently shuffled back to his seat.)

“What if I give him something so stupefying he won’t remember about Joohyun at all?”

The pink-haired man snorts. “Yeah? Like what, you gonna suck his dick in the morning? Won’t work.”

“Taeyong,” Yuta exclaims in surprise, raising an eyebrow. Taeyong is no saint, but he never really says something crude in front of someone else other than him or Ten. Especially not Jaehyun. “And how do you know that? You’ve tried?”

“Doyoung is the type of person who prioritizes work over sex, so,” Taeyong says. “Why, do you want to prove me wrong?”

“Thanks for the idea, but we’ll see.”

“That sounds like a yes.” Jaehyun finally joins in the conversation, putting his chin on his palm and slides his arm across the table, closer to Taeyong. Yuta wrinkles his nose and thinks, Jesus, but he tries not to focus on the already-active imagination of his.

“I think we should go home now,” Jaehyun says again later, a few minutes after they finally finished all of their drinks. Ten has drifted off to nowhere, probably getting caught up in another table’s drinking game because he really has a lot of friends like Yuta. Youngho and Taeil also haven’t come back, probably off fucking somewhere that Yuta doesn’t want to know any details of, so it’s like a designated thing to have Jaehyun get Taeyong home and Yuta is responsible for Doyoung.

“You know,” Jaehyun murmurs, moments before he slides out of his seat to get to Taeyong. “It’s like tonight, the universe has conspired to make us not lonely anymore.”

“What?” Yuta is sure Jaehyun isn’t drunk at all, but at that moment he thinks Jaehyun is already off his rocker because of the alcohol. “What you smoking, man?”

“You know I’m a Lit major,” Jaehyun simply says in response, before leaving Yuta with Taeyong’s arm around his neck and his around Taeyong’s waist.

There’s a long instance when Yuta is just sitting there in front of a knocked out Doyoung, reminiscing back to that afternoon in the classroom when he was also waiting for Doyoung to wake up from his nap. Only back then, Doyoung was exhausted and asleep – the Doyoung now might be down for the count, but definitely more relaxed that he has ever been these weeks. Yuta can almost physically feel Doyoung’s skinny shoulders relaxing with every breath he takes, occasional sniffing audible through the smooth fabric of his jacket.

Yuta would rather just sit there forever than waking Doyoung up, but the night is just getting later and Yuta has a not so good feeling that Donghyuck has already long locked the door.  

“Doyoung,” Yuta tries, putting his hand on Doyoung’s head. “Wake up.”

Doyoung hums vaguely, but doesn’t move. So Yuta leans his head closer, and he can smell Doyoung’s scent – that corny smell just like Donghyuck’s favorite candy, and also a bit of alcohol, and a bit of something that smells familiar but Yuta can’t quite pinpoint what it is.

“Hey,” Yuta says again. “You crashed at my place, now it’s my turn to crash at yours.”

This time, with a loud groan, Doyoung lifts his head. His cheeks and nose are dusted red (influence of alcohol?) and his eyes are half-lidded. As soon as he sees Yuta, he buries his face in his hands and whines again.

“Oh, God,” he murmurs. “It wasn’t a dream.”

“What wasn’t a dream?”

“You,” Doyoung replies helpfully, voice still muffled from between his fingers.

“D’you seriously think the last few months have all been a dream?” Yuta raises his eyebrows. “Like, wow, okay, so we didn’t eat ramen and I didn’t lend you my shirt, we didn’t watch World War Z and you didn’t tell me you would kill me mercifully if I became a zombie, we didn’t drink bubble teas and—“

“You said you wanted to kiss me,” Doyoung interrupts him, obviously fed off with Yuta’s sarcasm just like always. “Let’s get to that, if that’s true.”

“Oh, that one.” Now it’s Yuta’s turn to groan. He slides out of the booth, feeling awfully self-conscious as he grabs Doyoung’s arm and link it between his. Doyoung is wobbly on his feet, but he’s not the worst drunk there is. “Yeah, well, we can get to that later.”

“Why not now?” Doyoung asks. He shakes his head, strands of fair flying up and down just like a wet dog. “Nobody’s around anymore to hear you be embarrassing, Nakamoto. Why not now?”

“Okay, firstly, that has got to go,” Yuta suddenly says. “No more calling me Nakamoto. That shit’s getting old.”

“Ha,” Doyoung says smugly. They pass a street lamp outside of the bar and Yuta catches a glimpse of the haughty expression on Doyoung’s face; not a rare view, but not as unpleasant as it used to be. “I knew it. You don’t like being called Nakamoto.”

“Aren’t you genius, Sherlock.” Yuta rolls his eyes, smacking his palm against Doyoung’s arm. “’Course I don’t, you can literally see me fuming whenever someone call me that. Mostly you, asshole.”

“Yeah, I just never know why,” Doyoung says. “Why don’t you like that? Nakamoto isn’t such a bad name. It sounds so Japan. Like, totally oriental.”

Yuta blinks, and then laughs out loud. “Well, I just… It’s just a very common name in Japan, and I don’t like being common. You know me.”

“I do know you,” Doyoung assures, and to make things worse, he ends this with a sweet smile – the sweetest smile Yuta has ever seen him make. “You’re a reckless, extroverted, arrogant idiot who can never take things seriously—“

Yuta grunts.

“—but also… caring, I guess?”

“I see you struggling to list off my good points,” Yuta dryly comments. “Should I do it for you? I am confident, popular, helpful, a good leader, a good fighter…”

Doyoung suddenly grabs Yuta’s face with his free hand, cupping his face with his thumb and the rest of his fingers. He’s surprisingly gentle despite the sudden dangerous look on his face. Yuta’s skin temperature suddenly rises, blasting through the roof.

“Are you also a good kisser?” Doyoung asks, his voice dangerously low, bordering on a growl. Yuta swallows, feeling so unnecessarily turned on, and he’s even more comfortably uncomfortable that Doyoung’s usually-docile bunny eyes are following his every move now. He’s turned from a pet bunny to a wild lynx in the matter of seconds.

(He’s not complaining.)

But Yuta won’t be Yuta if he’s brought down just by a simple shock, so he assuredly retorts, in his most confident tone ever, “Why don’t you find out yourself?”

Doyoung’s lips don’t taste sweet like Donghyuck’s favorite corn candy, but it’s fine, because Yuta doesn’t like those shitty candies anyway.

Yuta ends up crashing at Doyoung’s place because the latter insisted, with his argument being “Donghyuck needs his sleep, he’s a child!” though Yuta’s ego just tells him that maybe Doyoung wants to spend a little more time with him tonight.

They didn’t even make it to the bedroom, because Doyoung grew impossibly dizzy halfway and they settled down on the couch, with Doyoung on top of Yuta in a mess of coughing and laughing. Really, if Yuta didn’t like him this much, he would’ve kicked him off him.

“Why are we like this?” Yuta asks, when Doyoung nearly falls asleep with his face pressed against Yuta’s cheek. It’s an uncomfortable position, just like how it’s uncomfortable for Yuta to be this close and accepting to someone who used to be his greatest enemy, but he doesn’t move because it’s a comfortable discomfort. He likes this feeling. Yuta might be a new type of masochist, but whatever. “Why are you like this?”

Doyoung ignores him. “You must’ve kissed a lot before.”

“Why? I’m that good?”

“Honestly? Yeah.”

“Wow,” Yuta says. “Maybe you just don’t meet enough people yet.”

“I think I don’t need more people if I could just kiss you.” Drunk Doyoung says things like these easily, like it’s normal for him to do so; these cringe-worthy words that Yuta would definitely love to frame so sober Doyoung could be mortally mortified the next morning. “Is that weird?”

“No,” Yuta frankly replies. “That’s actually pretty cute of you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“This must feel weird to you,” Doyoung continues on, breathing a hot whiff of breath against Yuta’s neck. He tries not to shiver. “Me, being like this. I’m not myself right now.”

“No, I’m pretty sure you’re yourself right now,” Yuta says. “If you weren’t this drunk, I doubt you’d kiss me first. You’d just keep it inside and I’d become a complete wreck.”

“Technically, you were the one who asked for it.”

“Yeah, technically, but who really did the deed?”

“But you were—“

Yuta slaps his hand on Doyoung’s mouth. “Can you please shut up for a moment and not make everything lead into a goddamn fight? We kissed, for fuck’s sake. We like each other, okay?”

Doyoung hums in vague agreement, and Yuta pulls his hand away. Doyoung lifts up his head a little to look at him. He’s frowning.

“What now?” Yuta asks, feeling tired already. He is supporting a person on top of him, so he’s justified to feel exhausted.

“So what Taeyong said was true, too?” Doyoung asks in a low, horrified whisper. “Joohyun gave us a bunch of homeworks?”

Yuta can already see where this is going. The color of scarlet on Doyoung’s face is slowly fading, replaced with measured horror. “Yeah, but—“

“Joohyun gave us a bunch of homeworks!”

“Doyoung, I swear to God—“

Doyoung pushes himself off Yuta like he’s a dirty puddle of water on the sidewalk. He scruffily wobbles to the kitchen counter, searching for his phone. “No Yuta, if I fail English Composition, I am going to kill you!”

“Really? Really, we’re back to this? At this hour?”

Maybe they’re not meant to stop fighting, after all.