Work Text:
1.
Minghao isn’t exactly a smooth operator. A teasing menace, capable of rendering people around him speechless with sweet words that twist into harmless jabs, and tricks up his sleeve which makes more sense rather than just flirting outlandishly for the sake of it. He was always a natural, as his friends described him, with his easy smiles and twinkling eyes, but that doesn’t necessarily equate to romantic advances at all. He’s had a fair share of love letters, sometimes left in his locker or given directly by blushing underclassmen that he accepts out of respect but always replied with a soft rejection where he doesn’t hurt their feelings.
But even with the countless rejected confessions, there are still people who come to him with hearts in their eyes and admiration at the tip of their tongues. It doesn’t bother him but sometimes, in fact it stresses him out more than he can admit.
To some, confessing is so easy. He envied them.
Especially when his dear friend doesn’t realize that Minghao has a crush on him.
Sicheng’s smart, Minghao gives him that. He’s all too aware how the former has managed to ace a test when he’s been up all night playing PUBG that Minghao actually had to login just as Sicheng scoped his character.
“How long were you up?”
“Bold of you to assume I slept.” Sicheng said over the phone, monotone clear in his voice.
After that, he was the first to finish, telling Minghao he was going to Starbucks to mooch off coffee from Taeil and get some shut eye. It was probably a miracle he could write his name when his eyes were so close to shutting in the middle of the test.
Sicheng’s always sporting that chic expression of half-lidded eyes from the lack of proper sleeping schedule, lips pulled into a perpetual pout by which he knew he can get away with anything, people misunderstanding his indifference for innocence. Being babied more than the actual children his friends knew, hyungs wanting to dote on him making him a little huffy with the implication that he, a grown-ass man, needed questionable adult supervision. He’s seen Sicheng shrug off his persistent roommates, Yuta and Taeil, when they tested his patience. They were loud, overactive dogs in human form with the self-awareness of a brick wall. Minghao didn’t know them well enough to assess if they were still as invasive of Sicheng’s space with they way Sicheng hoarded grudges against them till kingdom come. But he’d hide out in Minghao’s dorms, already acquainted with Minghao’s roommateslike he lived there as he tells them about how physics sucks and how he’ll never even go to the moon to experience its 1.62 m/s² gravity, all the while stealing Minghao’s Pringles just because he could.
Sicheng is a little brat when he isn’t being the faux cold city boy people always make him out to be, and Jaehyun was probably a bad influence on him after their drunken escapades that involved shaving both of Taeyong’s eyebrows off. And the latter never knew it was the two innocent 97-liners even when they waved a razor in front of him.
So, even amidst the impending doom that occurrs courtesy of Sicheng’s undeniably high IQ, he pretended to be clueless. The little shit feigning ignorance, crawling out of hell to be part of the angels and nobody is noticing. If Minghao ever finds out that Sicheng is doing his shtick, he’s going to strangle him.
They’re in the living room, Minghao occupied with watching Mean Girls on Netflix. It’s the third movie he’s watched at this point, an impromptu movie marathon to help ease off the anxiety of his midterm results being around the corner and he was well into being invested in Cady being unceremoniously offered muffins when the door opened. He doesn’t move, uncaring as he watched Regina George on screen. He thought his roommates were probably back from their classes, so he shrieked when there is a sudden weight on his side and a hand reaching out to grab a packet of sour patch kids from the table.
Sicheng isn’t even apologetic and situated himself on Minghao’s lap, lounging with his 3DS obscuring his face.
“Who got into an accident?”
“Taeyong-hyung. He was trying to find some moss for Bio class and thought the old fountain behind the campus was the best bet.” Sicheng’s face screwed up in concentration, thumbs moving deftly on the buttons. “Turns out he was right. So he slipped and hit his head on the marble.”
Minghao made a face, feeling pity for him. “Why aren’t you visiting then? He must have a concussion.”
Sicheng peered over his 3DS and squinted in disbelief. “I hate hospitals.”
“You’re telling me you just came here ‘cause your roommate isn’t home due to their friend being in the hospital, and there’s no one to cook you food.”
Sicheng shrugged, a sour patch kid hanging off the corner of his mouth, focused on his 3DS. “Pretty much.”
With that, the discussion was over for now. Minghao’s missed the few scenes of the movie he was watching, grimacing as he found that it’s already on Cady offering Kalteen bars to Regina. Damn, those looked good even if it was just a plot device to get the latter fat. Sicheng jostled on his lap, concentrating too hard on whatever game he was playing and Minghao gave a light slap on his forehead to still him. He doesn’t, shuffling Minghao’s hand off and sitting up, facing the television with his attention still on his game. He hiked one leg onto the sofa, foot dangling the edge and moving restlessly that Minghao has no choice but to acknowledge whatever Sicheng is thinking.
“Okay, I’ll bite.” Minghao sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. Sicheng doesn’t stop his foot’s movement but he does make a sound that he’s listening. “What happened?”
With how Sicheng’s situated, Minghao can see he’s playing Pokémon Sun and he’s saved his game before turning to him. “I’m glad you asked.”
And so, Minghao is forced to listen as Sicheng gave him a very in depth recollection of how Taeyong came stumbling into his room, blood dripping down his forehead in delirium as he sprouted that he was going to sacrifice Sicheng to the moss gods so he can become a moss person. Taeil who is the eldest out of them finally acted like the adult he was supposed to be and called 911 as Yuta forced Taeyong to sit down and to not fall asleep, slapping him for good measure. It ended with Taeyong slamming his face that he broke his nose trying to choke Yuta as the paramedics came inside.
As he spoke, Minghao is drawn to how his lips were moving with every word. He’s not really interested in whatever trauma Taeyong is going through (he has enough with how Jihoon tries to murder whoever stole his yogurt) as Sicheng giggled. His grin is ear-splitting, teeth in display as the sound of laughter is muffled. It’s always endearing how he raised his shoulders, head bowed as his body vibrated with his barely-contained amusement. He leaned closer without much thought, knowing that Sicheng is too invested in his story to notice him. He’s close enough that he can probably get away with letting his lips brush against Sicheng’s cheek but he isn’t really interested in that at this point. If there was some sort of outside force that would grace him with that clichéd head turn he’s seen anime use far too much, that day was not today.
Sicheng, still going on about how Taeyong is basically clawing at the door to be released and yelling at Sicheng to be his human sacrifice, chose that moment to slam his head to the side because he’s dying from laughter at whatever image of desperation in Taeyong’s face because the elder’s misery is so funny to him . Their foreheads collided with a sickening crack, both hissing in unison as they jumped away from each other and the clatter of a 3DS hitting the floor echoed in between them. Sicheng muffled his wince on the sofa’s armrest as Minghao clutched his forehead with both hands willing away the throbbing pain. Fuck, that hurt like a bitch.
“What was that for?” Sicheng shrieked, turning to Minghao with a blaring red spot forming on his forehead that mirrored the one he had.
“This is probably your karma for laughing at Taeyong.” Minghao hissed, standing up to get some ice as Sicheng complained that if his 3DS was broken, he was going to pay.
He needed that ice to nurse his bruise now.
Maybe his pride too.
2.
Holidays weren’t really Minghao’s cup of tea.
Don’t get him wrong. He’s happy for the off days he’s given in this hectic undergraduate life where sleep is a myth and coffee has invaded every vein in his body. Sleeping in is too much of a luxury he can’t afford that being handed it sounds more like a dream come true. He can go back home to his family to celebrate too which really should hype him up.
But this particular semester break, the forces of the universe is mocking him. He was supposed to book a ticket to China a week prior but with how swamped he was with his deadlines and thesis proposals, he forgot about it until he realized that there was no way he was going to get a ticket that would dent a hole in his wallet. And when he finally caved in, every ticket outlet was sold out like a bad joke that he almost slammed his fist to the computer screen. Sue him for his temper when he was running on Red Bull and coffee trying to prove that Beethoven’s symphony backwards had a subliminal message. Junhui took pity on him, telling him that he’ll give his family whatever Minghao was intending to gift them. He didn’t have the decency to also get Minghao a ticket. What has their friendship come to?
So here he was, moping indoors while there were only a handful of students left on campus while everyone went home. The landlady was surprised he was staying, commenting how sad she was for his situation and offering to celebrate with him.
She was the aunt that Minghao imagined to be the life of the party so hearing her say that her children had their own families and had bailed on her too made him want to make sure she had company.
The dorms are empty so Minghao has no qualms just lying on the floor, air bed that Soonyoung usually saved for movie nights with the rest of them trying to fit thirteen people in front of the television. He’s flipping through the channels, bored out of his mind when the door is slammed open and in walked Sicheng with two bags in his arms.
“Figured you were here too. Scoot over.”
Sicheng’s here too. “You didn’t go back to Wenzhou?” he voiced out, surprised and a little curious. Sicheng was always whining about homesickness, about his mother’s cooking or his sister coming home from New Zealand. He always looked forward to any excuse to get back on a plane to China but here he was, digging into his bag to pull out some chips.
Sicheng pouted “The flight I got was cancelled and it was too late to book another. I got kicked out the dorm because no one stayed. I should have alerted the landlord about it.” He opened the bag, fingers already diving in “You’re here, thank god. If Jun didn’t tell me, Taeil-hyung would have adopted me into his family or something.”
“You need to stop saying it like that or people would actually believe you hate your roommates.”
“I like to keep people guessing.” At that, Sicheng promptly shoved a whole handful of chips into his mouth as he climbed on the sofa. He chewed noisily, kicking Minghao to the side so he can rest his feet on the air bed.
“How did you get in?”
Crumbs flying, Sicheng replied “Auntie was worried you needed company too, you know. Not all of us can survive isolation. She said she’ll make dinner too.”
Minghao sat up at that. “We should help her then.”
“Nope,” Sicheng emphasized the last syllable with a loud crack as he bit down a chip “She said that we can help after. Looks like we’re terrors in the kitchen to her.”
She’s not wrong. The only people that could be trusted in the kitchen were Mingyu who was actually good at cooking and Junhui who has some talent in whipping up whatever leftovers that make a decent meal. The rest range from adequate to complete nightmares that would lead to the kitchen looking like a hurricane came by.
“Eat slowly, you animal.” Minghao grumbled, glaring at the offending crumbs that fly onto the sofa’s upholstery like dandruff. Sicheng kept on munching, fingers covered in salt and grease as he ignored him.
Sicheng noticed his glare when he didn’t answer, sticking out his tongue before biting down another chip. “God, what crawled up your duke shoot? Have some chips,” He shook the bag in front of Minghao’s face to which the latter swatted away “You’re not you when you’re hungry.”
“Who's going to complain when ants come crawling here? Sure as hell ain’t me.” It’s a joke but Minghao made a mental note to grab the broom after anyways.
Sicheng went back to emptying the bag clumsily, more crumbs falling to the floor before he realized that some of them were stuck around Sicheng’s mouth. Typical.
He clicked his tongue “You’re going to choke.” He muttered, reaching over the tissue box on the side table to get a few. He paused as Sicheng instinctively swiped his tongue between his lips to get rid of the salt, the distraction enough to give him an idea.
He nudged Sicheng’s chin, tissues ready just for pretense as he leaned closer with his eyes zoomed on his lips. The other boy is engrossed in the television now, merely tilting his face enough that he’s facing Minghao. At this point, Minghao’s ears are burning at how easy this seemed, the moment just right as he slowly closed his eyes-
“Oi, you two. I got some groceries I need help hauling! Dinner won’t cook itself, you know!” The landlady shrieked, banging on the door so hard that it felt like the walls were resonating the force of her knocks.
Minghao bolted away from Sicheng, slipping on his house slippers and unceremoniously fell face first on the floor with a loud thud. Upon hearing the noise, the landlady carefully pried the door open, worried but still respecting their privacy. “Is everything okay?”
Sicheng looked over the sofa, chip bag folded and ready to be thrown away as he turned back to Minghao’s sprawled form “He said the floor was dirty.” He shrugged, standing up to help the landlady.
Minghao’s muffled groan is left ignored.
3.
Third time’s the charm.
Or third place is no safe space but he digressed.
He hoped this time there was going to be progress. Or else he’s going to have to resolve to black magic just like how anime taught him.
Now it would have been easier if he just goes and confessed, wouldn’t it? Except Sicheng’s already developed a built-in confession repellant that he would just brush it off as a joke at a snap and he’s become immune to it. Yuta’s constant flirting nature that came with come-ons and blatant innuendos and Taeil’s almost painfully oblivious insistence to touch the people he likes does that to people. Sicheng’s learned to twist those words so that he can get off scot-free with his limbs intact. He can make it so his perspective prevails in situations that people want to monopolize him because he wants to play mobile games. Mark would pinch his cheek when he does sometimes but the kid does ask permission. Consent is sexy.
So he thought that the trick is maneuvering a situation favorable to Minghao’s cause. He can play Sicheng’s game better than people think.
Food is the closest way to the heart except who made that saying when it just passes the heart down the esophagus?
While Sicheng does go to his dorm a lot, he’s decided that this time he would return the favor. He got off class earlier, shooting a text to the boy about hanging out. Sicheng just sent him a loss meme in response. Armed with orange chicken and doughnuts, he got to the dorm just as he saw Taeyong getting out with bandages around his head. He offered him a silent prayer before he went inside, spying the door to Sicheng’s room open. He peered through, noting the disarray of it all with the discarded clothes and the clutter of knick knacks on the walls. Sicheng shared this room with Yuta and Taeil, a double deck and an extra bed pushed to the side while a dresser was pushed on the corner and low-level coffee table in the middle meant for studying. Sicheng’s sitting on the floor with a pen tucked behind his ear, laptop in front of him with a word document open as the cursor blinked steadily after the word “fuck”. Finals are looming around the corner, semi-finals already brutal to him that he’s resorted to taking his corkboard off the wall that’s now covered in clip outs and pinned notes as he looped red yarn around the heads and connecting to another. It’s different from his normal calm panic of cramming that it scared Minghao.
“Thank god I didn’t join those two. No way was I watching their drunken asses.”
Ah. So he just used this excuse to get out of Yuta and Taeil clubbing. “Who’s with them now?” Minghao asked as he got inside, setting the food down on the empty spot on the table as Sicheng looked up from his board with an impassive face.
“Mark, probably.”
“Damn. Is that allowed?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Sicheng looped another red thread, connecting a clipping of Taeyong’s accident from the gossip column of the school’s paper to a print out of the moth man. He peeked over his laptop where the food was and reached over to inspect it “Ooh, nice.”
Minghao made himself comfortable beside him, reading the word document. “Is this a project of yours or some conspiracy theory you wanted to pass to Professor to torment him?” He hummed, using the mouse to scroll up to find the first page (twenty pages is too short to be just a project) and read the title “The single-brain cell that people share when they try to disrespect someone who isn’t even doing anything? What the hell?”
“It’s a work in progress.”Sicheng said with pride, taking the carton box of orange chicken and opening the doughnut box to pluck a glazed doughnut. He doesn’t even waste time as he dunked his doughnut onto the orange sauce, biting into it with a moan.
Minghao sighed, more of exasperation than disgust “Need me a freak like that.”
“I have to say that there’s nothing bad with mixing sweet with salty. I got some bulgogi the other day that got sugared up because the salt shaker was replaced and it was good.”
“Stop. You’re making me sick.”
“You eat hot sauce packets in your spare time so who’s really the freak?” Sicheng put down the half-eaten doughnut, patting his hands on his shorts to get rid of the powdered sugar. He started typing again, eyebrows furrowing in concentration as Minghao started picking up the clothes lying next to him. He flipped the blue shirt around to see the word text abomination emblazoned on the chest. Must be Yuta’s.
“Clean up your room once in a while.”
“Please.” Sicheng rolled his eyes, still typing “Taeil-hyung makes us clean twice a day with Taeyong-hyung breathing down his neck. When he comes back, he’ll just make us anyways so don’t bother.”
Sicheng continued eating, using the chopsticks to grab his chicken and continued his demonic typing with one hand, too fast that Minghao is worried he really is possessed. Taking pity when he saw how Sicheng’s typed in three Ls in orange, he took the chopsticks away “Give me that.”
Sicheng alternated his eyes from the screen to his mood board then to Minghao “Please feed me.” He said easily, not in the mood to complain. His project must be really important.
Minghao picked up a bigger piece of meat that was coated evenly with sauce, pushing it into Sicheng’s line of sight with a hand under to catch any dripping. The latter merely took half a bite, licking his lips when the sauce got onto his chin. Minghao smiled to himself as Sicheng went in for another bite, moving the chopsticks away to tease him. Whether it is Sicheng’s occupied mind not realizing or just him being hungry, he followed and Minghao doesn’t even think but to lean in closer.
“No sauce on my shirt!”
Minghao jolted, fingers losing grip on the chopsticks and thus the meat all but fell right onto the shirt he forgot he placed on his lap. There’s something otherworldly hideous about the “On the menu: legs” in rainbow warped text now coated in orange sauce.
“Goddamit, Minghao!” Taeil shoved him away, grabbing his shirt and trying to wipe away the residue as much as he could without smearing it. He looked like he was fighting a raccoon for a piece of pizza with how there’s leaves in his hair and a smear of what seems to be red lipstick across his cheek. Yuta stumbled behind him, arms coming to wrap around Sicheng from behind and laying his whole weight onto his back.
“Ah, love of my life! Fire of my loins!” Yuta exclaimed, hiccupping and then giggling as he nuzzled Sicheng’s shoulder. Taeil saw and immediately dropped his shirt to wrap his own arms over Yuta’s, effectively suffocating Sicheng.
“I wish you were there! Mark fought the bartender for not playing Despacito.”
God, they smelled like vomit and bad decisions with a lingering touch of cologne called "They shouldn’t have had that much soju on a Monday night'.
Sicheng broke out of their embrace with a slap, hand keeping his mood board safe from these inebriated idiots and saving his word document just in case. He has his priorities straight. “You two take care of yourselves if you plan to keep being drunken morons.”
Yuta whined, slumping on the floor with his chin jutted out to look up at him “Come on! Cuddles!”
“I’m trying to unravel the mystery of how there’s a cryptid inside the forest behind our dorm. I got inside information that there might a cult following for it.”
“Was it Sehun-ssi?” Taeil piped up and then grimaced “Because I’m sure that was him and his friends in black hoods drinking some concoction from a cauldron we passed by today.”
Sicheng bolted up, eyes wild and grabbed Taeil’s arm “Show me.”
Finding that it’s become ridiculous enough at this point, he stood up dislodging Sicheng’s tight grip on the elder’s hand “If you barge in there, they’ll sacrifice you.” He doesn’t add that this cryptid that’s behind the forest rumor is just too creepypasta-esque to be real and probably made up to cover the real cryptid that Sehun is talking about (he hung out with the group in masters who always introduced themselves as if they were nine people, after all).
“Boo! You’re just friends!” Yuta yelled, more of a joke than a scathing remark and adding nothing connecting to the previous conversation.
“What are you saying? Said there’s another, look right into my eyes-” Taeil supplied, clearly getting the joke, as he is cut off when Sicheng slapped a hand over his mouth.
There’s a ping from his pocket, taking it out to find that Soonyoung wants him home so they can start Game Night and to buy three more liters of Coke on the way. Minghao huffed, deciding it was time for him to go and let Sicheng take care of his roommates.
Friends, huh?
4.
“There’s one thing worse than loans.” Joshua exclaimed, pointing at the word he’s written with his pen in between his Chemistry notes. The word is out of place between the molecular formulas and Piattos-shaped structures but Joshua’s probably bored already.
Minghao is half-listening, scribbling on his own to finish the extensive dance history lesson he needed to explain tomorrow as Vernon leaned down to humor his friend. They were three of the five who stayed in today, the rain pelting on their roof becoming a melody that helped Minghao concentrate. The rest of their dorm mates were out for god knows why with how the rain was becoming worse as the hours ticked by.
Joshua started writing on top of ‘loan’, throwing his pen with a flourish “Boom!”
Vernon squinted at it “A student.” He said, eyebrows furrowing with so much conviction he almost meant it.
“No.” Minghao groaned, rubbing the heels of his hands on his eyes.
The moment that Joshua started talking about how he never learned how to read and Vernon is replying with a low hum of confusion did Minghao choose to duck it and leave. He made up some excuse about going to the store, determined to leave the insanity that his friends are starting. It is official: Chemistry rots people’s brains.
He debated where he should go. Junhui is probably with Seungkwan today so he can’t get him to play basketball with him. Jeonghan would just glare at him if he even tried to sit in one of the classes he TAs for and get called too so that’s not an option. So the only good idea that popped up is visiting Sicheng.
He thought back to the last time they hung out and the last failed attempt at settling his feelings.
If subtlety didn’t work then there was no choice. He needed to be direct.
But not too direct. It’s not time to confess that he wants to hold Sicheng’s hand romantically and skip off to China. That’s the last resort when desperation gets the best of him and he really needed to use the full brunt of what words can bring. And praying that Sicheng would get it. Because he’s seen the force that Sicheng can bring when he’s given blatant affection. Taeil’s chocolates and flowers from Valentine’s that was more for platonic purposes was stared down with such impassivity that it shriveled his confidence. Yuta who was so shameless he just dived in to smack a hairsbreadth away from Sicheng’s ear with an arm slung over his shoulder while they were walking to class often gets jealous of how Sicheng would look good for an event, thinking he’s looking good for someone. Sicheng’s good at deflecting anything that needed him to acknowledge he’s a heartbreaker.
But if they can just throw themselves at him then Minghao can try a low-key version of it. Mama didn’t raise a quitter.
He doesn’t manage to text Sicheng that he wanted to visit when the devil himself walked out of the coffee shop across the street, sipping out of an obnoxiously diamond-encrusted tumbler with his eyes glued to his phone. He’s wearing ripped jeans with his pink sweater and his sneakers are mustard yellow and god, Minghao is scared he’s going to run into traffic at this point as he crossed the street in time, grabbing him by the crook of his elbow to narrowly miss the bike that skidded too fast.
“Watch it!” the rider shrieked, disappearing as Sicheng finally realized that he’s being held back.
“I don’t have money and the diamonds on this are fake.” He said, waving the tumbler as if proving a point. He doesn’t even turn with his thumb moving over the screen of his phone.
Minghao huffed “Stop reading and have some awareness where you’re going, Cheng.”
Sicheng whipped his head up, immediately locking his phone and pocketing it with a red flush on his cheeks. He stared at him, confused and then took a quick sip of his drink “Oh. It’s just you.”
“You better be grateful it’s just me.” Minghao grumbled, crossing his arms “Jeez. You’re going to become a statistic if I didn’t drag you out of the road.”
They started to walk towards the campus with their shoulders brushing as Sicheng nonchalantly kept sipping from his drink in a nervous manner, eyes flitting to Minghao now and then. The latter just kept his gaze forward, humming at the nice atmosphere between them. It’s not uncommon for them to find themselves in silence. Sicheng isn’t much of a talker, only piping up when necessary and always adrift about other things. Minghao, on the other hand, is always willing to go with the flow. He’ll speak up when he’s fed up with something or maybe when he’s into the topic but there’s just something that makes the silence between them sit warmly in his chest.
Sicheng tilted his head up as if sensing Minghao’s stare now directed to his face. He blinked owlishly and Minghao smiled. There’s a drop of what looked like coffee at the corner of his mouth and he reached out to wipe it, moving closer to him in the process. It’s reflex that he doesn’t even realize it as there’s a straw stabbed between his lips that it clacked against his teeth.
He gulped as the taste of cookies and cream assaulted his tongue, cold liquid sweet down his throat.
Sicheng smiled up at him, eyes scrunching “You should have just asked.”
Minghao bit back the retort that he doesn’t know what he’s asking really.
5.
At this point, he’s sort of given up.
He’s decided that there was not much to do but lay back to the easy friendship they’ve established, thoughts of developing it into something else diminished as he focused on just hanging out with Sicheng. The guy’s decided to take more subjects than his major dictated, overloading his course load that he can no longer hang out with Minghao on a whim. He’s become more serious this new semester that he’s rarely even in his dorm as Yuta would complain to him when they passed each other in the halls. Mark is the new designated class buddy because he’s in most of Sicheng’s classes, the poster child of a college student who has too many classes that he lived in the corner of classrooms. But then again, he was on scholarship so maybe it’s just a thing he does to compensate and graduate early. Nobody liked staying in college for four years (except Mark seemed to be determined to finish it in two).
Minghao has his own problems anyhow. Soonyoung has started to steal his clothes because he forgot to do his own laundry and with no other choice, he’s used some of Junhui’s without permission. It’s resulted to chaos as clothes are swapped between them all as Jihoon, who was the only one saved from the mess with his clothes not fitting anyone, sat them all down to talk about taking care of possessions and settled that everyone will now wash the laundry of the person they stole from. Minghao is appalled because Junhui decided it was a good time to make him wash the laundry that he didn’t wash last month. Not to mention, there’s the looming threat of whether or not his thesis would be able to reach the third chapter when the teacher he chose to interpret his statistical data was on leave for undisclosed reasons and the only one who could help him was Yugyeom. Except Yugyeom used weird lingo in his reports that Minghao knew wouldn’t sit well with his panel. His “Why did you put a stickman grinding on the floor as my graph?” was met with a “Because the probability was at an all time low and I needed to represent that.” He needed to remind Yugyeom that there was no probability in that specific data.
So it really shouldn’t come off a surprise that when Minghao is grabbed by the arm one Friday afternoon in the halls, he doesn’t expect a friend but someone invading his space when he is busy thinking about revising his whole data because of Yugyeom and grabbed onto the stranger’s wrist, twisting it to dislodge its hold. He took martial arts and he is not afraid to use it.
He turned, ready to throw down the sucker but there’s a small struggle that included the stranger putting their weight back to pull themselves away. It made him stumble back. His grip loosened but the other person is intertwining their fingers and hauling him back up before he fell down the ground.
Sicheng’s offended face looked back at him as he finally faced him. “Are you serious?”
“You’re the one who snuck up on me, genius.”
“IQ of 185, the rumors declare.” He removed his hand from Minghao’s, stuffing it in the pocket of his puffy yellow jacket.
“In another world, you and I only met once in some public award show and never talked to each other ever again.” Minghao mumbled. “Where are you going?”
Sicheng peered over his shoulder, adjusting the strap of his bag as he replied “I’ve been holed in the library for weeks and it’s making me insane.” He grimaced at whatever memory he conjured in his pretty little head “I’m contracting synesthesia with all this reading.”
“It can’t be that bad.”
“Your words taste sour like lemons so who are we even kidding here?”
Minghao never chalked him to be overdramatic but he lets him anyways. College is really a cruel master if it made Sicheng like this. But there’s still awareness as he started walking, Minghao compelled to follow him as they started to talk. Sicheng’s tired, yes, but the bags under his eyes are just puffy and he at least took a bath with how his hair is still damp and clinging to his forehead. His posture told of a veteran of late night conspiring and long days of highlighting his books to get a semblance of content. It’s honestly concerning how he squinted and the eye bags are emphasized for a second. But he smiled crookedly, the expression making his face brighter.
They walked into the studio for the dance classes, mirror-lined walls reflecting how Minghao is staring at Sicheng as he put down his bag onto a spare chair and shrugged his yellow jacket off to hang it on the back of the chair. He turned to Minghao, quirking a brow “What? Did you need something?”
“Can’t I hang out with my friend whom I thought had been taken by the deadline demons and sacrificed to Satan for good grades?”
“You make it sound so scary.” Sicheng muttered, locking his fingers and then stretched his arms behind him, bending down with both feet spread apart. He lowered down, arms moving upwards as he started to do a split.
Minghao whistled in appreciation. “Do a split.” He then pursed his lips in thought “No, wait. Do that thing where you put your leg to your ear.”
Sicheng glared at him over his shoulder “In case you forgot, I kind of sat with a hunched back on the coffee table with my laptop on my lap so not today, Satan.”
“Come on. Physical strain didn’t stop you before!”
“I beg to differ. Sound body, sound mind is what I strive on.”
“You live on leftovers and convenience store take-out. Stop lying to yourself.”
The silence ebbed back after that, Sicheng more interested in stretching the muscles that have become tight with his bad posture the past few days. He usually had his back straight, resting his spine properly on the chair as if he can be casted as a gentleman in a period drama. He’s stretching just like he did in early mornings, a habit from his youth filled with Chinese dance and routine that he followed to this day to keep himself grounded. There’s a fluidity that came with his movements, arms flowing with grace and body turning as if it’s water dripping in steady beats. It’s mesmerizing.
“You should dance with Junhui again.” Sicheng said as he sat down on the floor, hands on his knees to support his chin, looking up at Minghao. There’s sweat down his brow that he wiped down with the back of his hand, smiling at him and Minghao’s heart almost lurched out of his ribcage.
The dance in question was very important to both Minghao and Junhui. It was a sentimental piece and the days they had to practice it were the most intense days of their lives. It was more than just syncing their movements so that the cloth tied to their wrists wouldn’t bother them or have them bumping to each other; it was about precision and coordination to be able to convey the song’s aura to the audience. Minghao liked to think that was the pinnacle of his and Junhui’s connection and he is very happy with how it was praised that they performed it for last year’s graduation ceremony.
He’s proud of it. Sicheng’s praise just made him flush too much. “Aw, you like me that much?”
There’s a pause, Sicheng’s lips parting in surprise before he ducked down to hide his face. “Yeah.”
It’s a fleeting image: the flush that crawled up Sicheng’s neck before he stood up abruptly and grabbed his things, coat in his arm as he rushed to the door. Minghao is stunned that he can barely manage a response as Sicheng is throwing the door open. He is on his feet, chasing his long strides and barely grabbed his wrist to stop him. “What the hell? Where’s the fire?”
Sicheng turned to him, glaring as he tried to shake off Minghao’s hold on his wrist. “Nothing.” His ears are red for some reason, tension in his shoulders and he used his free hand to cover his face. Why the hell is he being shy?
Minghao blinked. He tried to think what went wrong, mulling over what he said before and then replaying it to make sense of it. Then it hit him harder than the water bottle that Jeonghan threw at him in a crowded hallway. He doesn’t even stop to think before throwing his arms around Sicheng.
This is not the kiss he’s been chasing for so he can confess his feelings but then Sicheng’s arms wind up around him and it’s already good enough.
+1
“It’s impossible.”
“You’re just scared.”
“Fuck. You’re going to hurt me with that thing. No way is it going in my mouth.”
“Don’t be a sissy and open wide, bitch.”
Minghao is ready to protest again, chest heaving but Sicheng doesn’t waste time shoving the peeled lemon into his mouth. The first thing he registered is the salt that overcame his tongue and he bared down, teeth breaking the skin of the lemon and the burst of utter sourness has him doubling over, gagging and making noises from the back of his throat.
Oh god, it burned. He thumped the floor with his fist as if it would erase the sensation of how his throat is being fucked with a chainsaw and every breath he took choked him with the bitterness that erupted after the sourness settled in. The salt is sliding down his throat in a way it became an itch he can’t reach and the lemon is morphing his face into a caricature of a gagging cat. He looked ugly, he knew and Sicheng’s ringing laughter isn’t helping at all.
He unceremoniously shoved the boy out of the way as he made a beeline to the sink in the bathroom, spitting the chewed up lemon as he turned the faucet on, ducking down to gargle away the god-awful taste out of his tongue.
Sicheng walked in the bathroom holding the other half of the lemon, face contorted in a grimace and lips twisted tightly. Good. At least he knew what torture he had impacted on him even if that wasn’t the same level as Minghao’s. He’s pretty sure he isn’t going to be able to taste anything for the rest of the day at this rate.
“You’re awful.” He croaked, sticking his tongue out because there is still a lingering bitterness and his words come out slurred. He’s swearing off all lemon-related items for the rest of his life. Lemon candies, food, air fresheners or hell, those lemons Joshua calls literature that he sends into their group chat at ass crack of dawn. He’s traumatized.
Sicheng rolled his eyes, throwing the remaining lemon into the trash bin with a flick of his wrist. He handed a towel to Minghao, brushing his bangs away from his face with the most faux innocent expression he can muster before breaking into a smile and bowing over to laugh into his hand.
“You got to admit that it was funny.”
Minghao begged to differ but he kept his mouth shut to stop the bitterness in his throat from creeping back up as vomit. He’s going to have to brush his teeth thrice to get the taste down and hopefully be able to stomach eating anything after that fiasco.
“You didn’t have to sacrifice me to prove a point to Yuta,” Minghao grumbled, leaning down to gargle one last time just to be safe “What does he even need this knowledge for?” Probably just to mess with him because Yuta liked making things difficult and making Minghao suffer as some fucked up payback. Those chips didn’t have his name on it and yeah, Minghao could have saved some but he was hungry and Sicheng said it was fine. Or Sicheng warned him beforehand and Minghao was too busy licking the salt off his fingers to really listen.
Sicheng doesn’t answer him immediately, eyebrows knitted in disbelief. “No one was asking to make a point. You just wanted to spite him.”
Okay, true but Minghao won’t own up to that.
There’s a lull that followed, punctuated with the sound of running water and Minghao thought back to how this kind of atmosphere would be good for him to sneak a kiss. In the three months they started dating, their dynamic as friends still lingered and Minghao doesn’t want to break whatever equilibrium they’ve set for now. Sicheng steals his hoodies because he wanted to, hung out to play Animal Crossing on his 3DS and his roommates playfully complain that Sicheng doesn’t have time for them anymore because Minghao’s been cooking dinner for him every time he was free.
But he liked the weight of Sicheng’s hand on his nape, pulling him down to stare at his face for any kind of discomfort. It’s honestly really sweet except Sicheng was the one who got him to do this so it’s replaced with a sense of resignation that, yeah, he’s in love with a menace.
The hand on Minghao’s nape tightened briefly as Minghao flashed a smirk at him and Sicheng rolled his eyes at him. “Got it all out your system?”
“I’ll probably have mouth sores by tomorrow.”
Sicheng hummed before he leaned down to peck right at the corner of Minghao’s mouth, moving away with a disgusted look on his face “It’s bitter.” He wiped his mouth, unaware of the dumbfounded look on Minghao’s face.
That was-Wait, it was that easy for him?
Sicheng squinted at his face, unsure what the expression on Minghao’s face. “I won’t kiss you again with that taste in your mouth. Try again after you brush your teeth.”