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“Fuck this,” Win says.
He’s not expecting a sympathetic ear, per se—Dean’s not someone Win has ever gone to for comfort—but he does expect a degree of understanding. Dean’s own father has asked some overbearing things of him in the past, and after seven years of friendship Win kind of thought they could complain to each other about their fathers’ demands without judgment from time to time.
So Dean’s casual, “Are you still bitching about it?” is frankly a little hurtful.
Win gives him a sour look from the bench he’s sprawled out on. “What do you mean still? I haven’t talked about it in weeks.”
Dean closes his locker and moves his attention down to his phone screen. “Uh huh,” he says.
“Hey,” Win says, kicking at him. “Must you be such a cold, callous asshole right now? Who’s got your attention, your fiancé? Spend five minutes on one of your platonic relationships, you sap. I dare you.”
Just as Dean serves him a warning glower, the door to the locker room opens and Team peeks in. “Hia, are—you…oh.” He spots Dean and greets him with a quick and sheepish wai while holding the door ajar with his foot. “Sorry, I can come back.”
Dean smirks at Win with languid amusement. “Hypocrite,” he says to Win.
Ignoring him, Win turns his head and catches Team in the middle of eyeing his supine body. “Can I give you a ride?” Win asks, leering.
Team blinks, then grimaces when the double entendre sinks in. “No,” he says, “never mind.” With another quick wai aimed pointedly at Dean only, Team heads back the way he came and lets the door close behind him.
Dean raises an eyebrow. “Smooth,” he tells Win.
“Oh fuck off,” Win says, grinning. He sits up and grabs his backpack off the floor. “See you tomorrow.”
He doesn’t have to exert much effort into catching up with Team, it turns out. Within three strides out of the locker room, he’s successfully hooked an arm around Team’s neck and tugged on the brim of the hat Team’s wearing.
“Hello, beautiful,” Win says sweetly. “May I have the honor of escorting you home?”
Team jerks his head to the side, pulling the hat’s fabric out of Win’s loose grasp, then bats at Win’s arm in a comparatively perfunctory attempt at dislodging it. “Don’t be sleazy in front of Dean,” he says.
Win heroically resists the urge to kiss Team’s adorable sulking mouth and says, “I wasn’t being sleazy. I offered you two things in six words. I was being economical.”
Team aims an elbow at his stomach and only misses because Win deftly slides to Team’s other side.
This morning, Win told Team that he’d have some activities to deal with after his classes, so it’s really rather sweet to find out that Team actually waited around for him all this time. After ensuring that the parking lot has no witnesses, Win leans close and kisses Team on the temple.
And while Team visibly fights a losing battle against a smile, Win asks, “Wanna grab dinner out somewhere?”
“Sure.”
When they reach Win’s motorcycle, Team stops short. “Uh.” His eyes have gone wide. “Shit.”
Exhaling a short laugh, Win plucks the spare helmet and holds it out for Team to take. “We rode in together this morning,” he says. “What, did you forget?”
Team scratches his ear under his hat, his expression sour. “Uh, no. I, um.” He scrubs the back of his neck with his nails and lets out a tiny whine of annoyance.
Win watches this with mild concern. “What?” he says. “I won’t drive fast. What’s the matter with you?”
Team snaps, his face suddenly bright with…some kind of positive feeling. “I just remembered!” he says. He takes his phone from his pocket and unlocks the screen, his smile smug. “I want to show you something real quick.”
He hands his phone to Win proudly, all but shoving it into Win’s hand.
Gamely, Win accepts it and studies the Instagram post on Team’s screen. It’s from Manaow’s account, a photo of her and Del holding a paper map in each hand and winking at the camera.
When Win glances up, Team’s already climbing onto the back of the motorcycle, busy hooking the chinstrap of the helmet. “Let’s go! Back to the dorm! I don’t wanna eat out tonight.“
Win snorts. “You’re so weird right now. Why’d you wanna show me that?” He returns Team’s phone slowly.
Team’s grin widens. “They’re going hiking this weekend,” he says. “I wanna go with you sometime, too.“
Well, that’s…truly adorable. Win smiles and taps Team’s chin. “Sure. After graduation.”
Over the past two months, he’s said those two words together maybe more than any others. His whole world has been narrowed in on his impending graduation for so long, he can’t even fantasize about the time that’ll follow. The most he’s capable of conjuring up on a good day is sleeping in with Team and maybe going to the beach. Also with Team.
In the year since he and Team started dating officially, Win’s gotten kind of one-note with the company he keeps. If it’s not Team he’s with, people seem surprised.
As Win picks up his own helmet, Team idly reaches up and tugs on a strand of Win’s hair. When Win raises his eyebrows in response, Team just smiles and says, “I like your hair black, hia. You look more mature.”
If anyone else used those words with him, Win would wrinkle his nose. From anyone else, “more mature” would sound like a backhanded compliment, a slight on his previous look. From Team, though, it just sounds sincere and soft. Proud, even.
For years, Win knew that his father would ask him to dye his hair back to its natural color after he graduated and joined the company, but that hasn’t made the choice any less unpleasant for him. He even tried persuading his father to see his side for the first half of his final year of undergrad, but his father wouldn’t budge. Finally, in mid March, Win got sick of the dread and the daily reminder in the mirror that he’d have to get rid of it soon and did the dye job himself.
However, every so often—like tonight in the locker room—Win will catch his reflection in a mirror and cringe at what he’s done, tossing away his favorite frivolous freedom months before he technically had to.
Team’s offhand compliment brings Win his first wave of genuine happiness about the change.
Without checking their surroundings this time, Win darts in and fits his mouth over Team’s for a quick, reckless kiss. To his astonishment, Team only laughs against his lips.
On the drive back to their dorm, Team is cuddlier than usual. He rests his chin on Win’s shoulder and holds his waist tight, even rubbing his thumb in absent strokes over Win’s stomach at one point.
While Win parks, Team hops off first. Win carries both helmets while Team adjusts his hat, promptly placed back on his head. As Team presses the call button for the elevator, Win pokes the side of Team’s head, right over the hat.
“What’s this for?” Win asks. “The sun’s already set.”
Team swats his hand. “Go away, hia.”
There’s no prior discussion before Team sends the elevator up to Win’s floor, and Team immediately flings his body onto Win’s bed with a sigh while Win sets about settling in for the evening. Turning on the lights, washing his hands, removing his laptop from his backpack and placing it back on the desk, drawing the curtains shut, and then pausing by the foot of the bed to ask Team what he wants to eat.
Only Team is clearly waiting for him, his legs crossed and his eyes fixed on Win’s.
“Can you sit with me for a second?” Team asks.
Intrigued, Win drops onto the mattress, sprawling on his side with his head propped on one hand.
“No, wait, sit up.”
“What? Why?”
“Hia, come on.”
Win rolls his eyes and does as he’s asked, copying Team’s crossed legs with an exaggerated look of, There, happy?
Team doesn’t seem to notice. He’s not even looking at Win, but more…vaguely at his chest, and only for a moment while he collects himself. Then he finally takes off his hat, and Win realizes why Team’s been acting a little unusual.
Win’s mouth opens around a sound he doesn’t actually end up making. He registers the cautious hope in Team’s eyes and quickly moves his hand, running his fingertips from Team’s warm scalp down the soft length of his hair. His dyed hair.
It’s just the one lock on the side, but it’s the exact shade of blond Win’s was.
Team takes a breath and says, “Manaow helped me do it earlier while you were busy.”
Win gathers the blond strands between his fingers and runs his thumb over them, mesmerized.
“You did this for me?” Win asks.
Team hesitates, then nods. “I know you hated changing your hair back, so. I don’t know. I did this.” He points shyly to the hair Win’s still holding like a priceless, fragile treasure.
Win can’t think of anything to say. He searches Team’s eyes, amazed by the depth of emotion he finds there.
“Also,” Team says, “I have extra.”
He puts the dye box into Win’s hands. “You said you didn’t have to dye it before graduation, right?“
Win nods. He suspects where this is going, but he doesn’t say anything yet.
Moving his focus upward, Team picks out a lock of Win’s loose hair and tugs. “Maybe just this part?“ he suggests. “Until you graduate?”
With his most saccharine suspicions confirmed, Win’s smile grows slowly. “Did you,” he says, eagerness swelling in his heart, “suggest this,” he lifts the box, “because my birthday is tomorrow?”
Team says, “No,” but his forehead is pinched and his lips are suddenly at an extreme downturn. “I didn’t even know your birthday was tomorrow.”
Win leans in until the tips of their noses touch. “You adorable little liar,” he says, “the notification dropped down on your phone while I was looking at Manaow’s picture.”
Team opens his mouth, shuts it, and sulks. “Whatever.”
Win grins and closes the remaining space between them, kissing his ornery firecracker as softly as he pleases.
•
Win dyes a section of his hair in the same area as Team’s.
For the last few weeks of the semester, Win takes an obscene number of photos and selfies.
After Win graduates, his hair returns to black again, and Team follows suit.
•
Except for a small section of blond at the nape of both their necks, known only to each other.