Chapter Text
To say Shang Qinghua was in over his head wasn’t an understatement. In fact, it was far from it. It was an overstatement if anything. Why? Because despite what the man might claim, he actually knew the materials being taught in class and understood everything perfectly fine. In fact, when pressured, he tested well and could very well have scored higher than his peers and perhaps with a bit of application, made it onto the honor role. However, the man had one fatal flaw when it came to post-secondary education.
He had no ambition.
That wasn’t to say he didn’t have dreams or goals or aspirations. He had those by the dozen! For example, he wanted to be a writer. As it was, he had several small works published under his belt. A few in zines, some in indie mags, and every a few short stories in small collections. It was just that all said works were either of fan nature, or, gratuitous erotica written so he might pay his bills and feed his pet hamster without worry. As it stood, it was still a claim that he could make that he was ‘technically’ published. It was just that he wanted writing to be a steady job that wasn’t on the side from his actual job which other than being a student, was being a lowly register ringer for the convenience store. To get to that however he needed to push himself and showcase the talent that so many teachers knew he had but he just never chose to really display. He had the skill, the ability but his drive to pursue his dream with the same vigor and ruthless conviction as his peers? That was lacking. And by lacking one might even call it non-existent.
If you asked Shang QingHua he would tell you it was because he didn’t feel like it, or, he wasn’t actually that good right now but he was improving. He might even be bold enough to say that he was just looking for the right spark, for his muse to arrive.
To Shang QingHua, he had time, and school was school and he just had to complete it in order to get his family to not nag at him and maybe overlook the fact he was an openly bisexual man in a world that didn’t look kindly upon two dudes chilling in a tube but not 5 feet apart. He had shit to do before he could afford to dream big and think he might land the big one, that his muse would arrive and give him that final push he needed to go for what was so close yet just out of reach.
Thankfully without much fanfare, said muse arrived at exactly 9:58 on a Tuesday morning at the start of the semester, right before Professor Shen’s lecture about the importance of grammar. He had long dark hair, a stern expression, a body built like he could break Shang QingHua’s bones with a simple flick of his wrist, and wore clothing that cost more than the man made in three months.
Naturally, Shang QingHua didn’t notice him at all.
It was a little over a week later into Professor Shen’s classes that Shang Qinghua actually took notice of one Mobei Jun.
And it wasn’t even because he had taken stock of the man- it was because, as the professor was droning on about their first project, (work that Shang Qinghua knew he would lament and want to rip his hair out over because that’s just the type of class Professor Shen taught), he was assigned Mobei Jun as a partner. Looking down from his row, trying to pin a face to the name, his eyes met those of a man Shang QingHua under other circumstances would have called handsome and dangerously beautiful. Sadly this was class, (and Professor Shen was glaring at him which usually signaled your imminent death), his luck was shit, and Mobei Jun was scowling at him, looking like he smelled something worse than the University’s first year dorm hallway on a hot summer day and the blame was all on Shang QingHua. His brain had one thought which seemed intent on overriding all rational because that’s just how things were for him.
‘Oh no.’ His brain supplied in a fashion that was entirely unhelpful. ‘He’s hot.’
“Ah-“ He tried to say hello, he really did. He was going to bow, smile, go down the two rows to properly introduce himself the second the steel grey eyes of the professor left him and picked a different target, but all he could come up with was a single word.
“Nice.”
There he stood, like a idiot, half the class that paid a modest amount of attention looking at him, (the rest on their phones or playing some MMO on their far too fancy for school gaming laptops), gaping like a fish as he failed the basic criteria for human interaction. Not uncommon for him sure, but usually it wasn’t in front of the class, much less in front of a handsome classmate who was going to be his project partner.
Said partner who’s eyes narrowed before looking away, seemingly done with waiting for Shang QingHua’s brain to process ‘how does one say hello’. Which was fair, he did take a while to catch up to his actions by which time he had slumped back into his seat. His heart was thundering for a number of reasons, most including how he vaguely heard the professor snapping at him to say if he found the arraignment disagreeable to actually say so, (he didn’t! His partner might hate him already but he was handsome and easy on the eyes so at the very least let this lowly bisexual have this Professor Shen! Mercy! Let him have gay pinning!).
Swallowing down his anxiety as he often did, Shang QingHua stuck his nose back to his papers and pencil, jotting down what his brain could filter and recall from class, (which was actually a lot more than he’d even expected. A side benefit to taking the notorious Impassable Shen’s Modern Literature 237 was that the man put the fear of God and failure into you so much that you actually did tend to get better by sheer want to avoid the man’s ire and red pen). By the time the bell rang, he felt a bit better, like maybe things wouldn’t be so bad. He just needed an e-mail or something and at worst he could just do the work and avoid all social interaction which was how these partner projects usually went anyway.
“Shang QingHua?” A deep voice brought his face up from his desk, just about to gather his things. Before he saw his face, Shang QingHua knew he was fucked. He was so royally screwed. He was going to die and he was going to die a virgin which wouldn’t have even crossed his mind had the man who was giving Shang QingHua the precursor of an anxiety attack didn’t look to unfairly handsome!
Swallowing his fear and a good helping of drool that had he opened his mouth would have fallen out like a bad amine trope, the man was helplessly stuck in his seat as that much taller, much more fit, much more handsome student looked down at him like he was the most offensive person to have ever breathed air.
“Tch.” Mobei Jun’s lips ticked upwards, his disdain clear. “Here.” A slip of paper was put on the desk in front of him, and oh wow, those hands were big and strong looking and- Oh right. Trying very hard not to be distracted by the other student’s unfair attractiveness, he listened to what was being said.
“-You’ll meet me without being late.” Oh wait, just what had he said? Meeting? Late? He bit back the reply that he was never late for important things, (school, to him, was not that important in comparison say to the launch of his favorite game’s new patch), but Shang QingHua had missed part of whatever it was that had come from Mobei Jun’s mouth.
“Ah, could you repeat that?” He felt the rage in that look, and it sent a chill up his spine. So far, the other student looked on the verge of choking him out and stuffing him in a locker. It had happened once in middle school and despite what TV would tell you, it hurt a lot more than it let on. He wasn’t a human stick afterall!
“5 pm. The Library. Back room with the four computers from the 90s. Do not be late.” Adjusting his bookbag, Mobei Jun left with a scowl and not much else. It was only when he noticed that he was just about the last person in the lecture hall, (and putting him in direct line of sight to professor Shen), did Shang QingHua realize what had happened.
“Eh?” Had he just been told of a project meet up? Normally, project partners just dipped and said nothing to him.
“Eh?” He said again, putting the last of his books away, mind running through the scenario once more. It was just a little after noon and he felt hungry. He had time before his next class to go get a cup of noodles from his apartment. 5pm wasn’t a bad time. He didn’t have class.
Once back at his apartment, he thought about it again. He usually just got an e-mail and a quick ‘oh would you take care of this’ because while it was known he’d slack among his peers, he did get the bare minimum done for a passing grade.
“Eh?” Did Mobei Jun know that? He’d never seen the man in his classes before. Never mind on campus. Maybe he was a transfer student?
4: 40 and he was out of the labs, regretting taking his last science course back to back with the lab. He should have signed up for the switch days. His feet carried him towards the library, not really thinking of that morning, nor, of the fact a pair of ice cold eyes were focused on him walking up the stairs and into the semi-louder than it should have been library. He chose the place he normally chose. The back room with old computers that everyone avoided because no one wanted to use something that somehow had survived the 90s. He sat down, opened his biology text book and began jotting down a few notes, making sure to write in big bold letters ‘MITOCHONDRIA IS THE POWERHOUSE OF THE CELL’ simply to cheer himself up, a tiny chuckle leaving him at the dated meme he’d learned while overseas.
He did not notice a man in the door way, staring at him, nor did he even notice when said man entered the room. He would later chalk that up not to inattentiveness, (though that was another issue he had in general), but rather the fact that Mobei Jun was just that damn quiet. But when the books all slammed into the table, a thud echoing in the small room, Shang QingHua yelped, jumping up and back in his chair, nearly falling over. Glasses askew, he looked at the source and all his anxiety from that morning came back with the force of a closed fist hitting right in the gut.
“Shang QingHua.” Cold eyes looked down at him, black hair framing a face that was too intense and made him squirm for not fun reasons that all had to do with the feeling he was going to get his ass beat.
“Glad to see you made it on time.” His smiled. He actually smiled and sure, it was the kind of smile a villain made before killing the side character just to taunt the hero, Shang QingHua felt his heart to a little jump at the upturned lips.
‘Oh no.’ His brain provided the second time in one day. ‘He’s HOT.’