Archive of Our Own

Minho

Minho feels sick. He is standing in the middle of the quad, gathering his bearings after getting unceremoniously dismissed by his Linear Algebra professor.

Distantly, he hears the babble of freshmen, ever-present in any area of the university. He tries to focus on that, tries to breathe in and out like his mother always tells him to do whenever his mind is racing a mile a minute.

He sits down on the nearest bench and attempts to smooth out the paper he’s been clutching ever since he walked out of the classroom. At the right corner of the paper, marked in bright red, was his first failing mark for the semester. His first in college even, and hopefully, hopefully the last.

When he got his exam paper back, he barely glanced at the score and the letter grade before quickly turning it face down on his desk, his face burning. He was ashamed of himself, but was even more humiliated when his professor asked him to stay after class so they could talk.

I was surprised to see you didn’t do so well, Minho. Was the lesson too hard?

The tips of his ears started flaming but he fought to remain stoic, to not let his embarrassment show. I’m sorry, I understood it well enough, I just did some computations wrong.

He wasn’t consciously trying to lie, he just didn’t look at the paper long enough to see what he did wrong. It was true that he understood the concepts while they were tackling them, and it may also be true that he miscomputed some of his answers. Minho hoped he wasn’t caught in an accidental lie.

His professor just gave him a long look. Minho wasn’t particularly fond of him – he had a tendency to give exam questions that they had not discussed, and even then he still graded poorly – but he taught the subject matter in a way that Minho could appreciate. But then he spoke again.

Maybe ease up on the dance practice?

Hearing his professor say that so out of left field made Minho’s blood run cold. He knew the program he designed for himself was unconventional, but Minho chose to major in Computer Science and minor in Dance for a reason – he was passionate about both of them. He doesn’t like how his professor expects him to prioritize one over the other. His dance courses are just as important.

I’m managing my time well, thank you. I’ll just work harder for finals, Minho had said, mentally congratulating himself for biting back a snarkier remark.

On some level, Minho knows it’s fine. He’d gotten satisfactory marks in all his courses during freshman year, but he’s not on the dean’s list. His expectations for himself were just to maintain those marks. 

He’d also been warned that the first semester of sophomore year was going to be a bitch, that the courses would be so much tougher than the ones they took in freshman year. Sophomores in his major normally take on a heavier load, and on top of that, they are also forced to register under the only available professors, who are rigid and harsh with their requirements.

It’s almost inevitable to get occasional low marks. It’s fine, Minho repeats to himself. He’s not as competitive as his other batchmates, but he does make an effort to study hard. It’s always been this way. Growing up as an only child, his parents were always on his case about studying, so much that it had morphed from a chore, to a habit, to something that’s part of him – that insatiable desire to learn.

Maybe that’s why it stings this bad. He knows his efforts weren’t half-assed, but they had fallen short nonetheless.

From his vantage point on the bench, he can see the soccer players run laps around the oval that’s only fairly visible past the quad. He can see a freshman he knows from one of his electives talking to herself on a staircase a building over. He can see a couple, hands intertwined and heads close together, as they walk out the school gates.

Minho stands up. There are worse things than a bad grade. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, unlocks it, and types out a message to Jisung.

you free? wanna grab dinner?

Minho watches the soccer team run another lap before his phone pings.

sure! wings place in 10

Minho grins and starts walking.

He gets to their favorite chicken wings restaurant first, sliding into a corner booth and waving at a server who passes by. They’re here often enough that the entire staff knows them. He takes the liberty of ordering for them both.

After placing the order, Minho sees Jisung coming in through the door, looking disheveled but still handsome. He spots Minho and flashes him a peace sign, walking over to the booth.

It’s almost routine by now, eating at their favorite affordable places together when they can, catching up on what they’ve been up to. It’s only been a week since he last saw him, but Jisung is already regaling him with new tales of hapless freshmen at the music department, never mind that he’s a freshman himself as well.

Minho listens to him gloat, anyway, knowing how competent Jisung really is; even his own dance teachers know of him. Jisung’s application had been stellar, and soon enough his professors started letting him produce tracks and perform for school functions. It always impresses Minho, how Jisung is well on the way to making a name for himself.

Their orders arrive not much later, and when Jisung’s plate is placed in front of him, he says, “Yah, Minho-hyung! Why did you get the barbecue flavor for me?”

“Because it’s what you always get.”

“Still!” Jisung whines. “I could be in the mood for something else today, you don’t know.”

“And are you?” he challenges. Jisung rolls his eyes, acquiescing, and Minho leans back in his seat, smiling at him as they start to dig in.

They’re halfway through their meal and Jisung finishes his story about one freshman who was caught plagiarizing a song. “Anyway, enough about this chap. How’s your week going?”

Minho gets reminded of the moments leading up to this dinner, feeling the same twinge in his chest that he felt hours before.

“Just okay. Got a failing grade for my Linear Algebra exam.” For the second time that day, Minho tries his best to keep his face neutral. It probably worked for his professor, but this is Jisung.

Jisung is the person Minho goes to when he’s too tired to even dance. The person who is always just a text away, understanding Minho’s wordless request for proximity. The person who can tell if Minho’s upset just by the set of his shoulders.

And since this is Jisung, he knows all Minho needs for comfort is his presence and simple but sincere assurance. “That’s fine, dude. You’ll make up for it in the next one,” he says, patting him on the back. And because this is Jisung, Minho believes him. He meets Jisung’s sincere eyes and already feels better.

As it turns out, his Linear Algebra grade would only be the first of his problems.

When Minho first set out for university, he admittedly had most essentials prepared ahead of him, in no small part thanks to his parents.

He decided to study in his mom’s alma mater, and his mother had been ecstatic enough to call in a few favors for him. This mostly meant her contacting an old college friend to set him and her son up in a nice place just a short distance away from the school.

Beomseok was nice enough. They weren’t really close, as they didn’t share any common interests aside from going to the gym, and they hardly found a common time to do that too.

Still, Beomseok was punctual with rent and utilities, and he split for groceries most of the time. He could be tidier, Minho thinks, but it’s been too long and he doesn’t know how to bring it up.

It had all been fine for his freshman year, allowing Minho to adjust, make a few close friends in both departments, and join dance club, where he met Felix and Hyunjin. They were the ones he was closest to in the Dance department, even though they were a year below him.

When sophomore year rolled around and he started to train more with them, that’s also when he started getting attention. Minho doesn’t really sleep around, but he doesn’t decline when an opportunity presents itself and he’s in the mood.

One night in October, just a couple of weeks before their finals, Beomseok tells him he’ll be out for the night to work on a group project. Around this time, Minho has been stressing out about his workload for days and just wants to blow off some steam, so he sees the chance and takes it.

He makes quick of it, too, texting the man who’d given his number at his economics class and having him over within the hour. Juyeon knew what he was in for and wasted no time, and Minho appreciates him for that.

An hour later, Juyeon puts on his sneakers by the foyer and tells Minho the customary ‘I had a nice time’. Minho smiles back at him, just as Beomseok opens the door.

He meets Juyeon’s eyes first, then Minho’s, stone cold. Though he didn’t really see anything, the look on his face is enough to set off several alarms in Minho’s head.

He should have realized it so much sooner.

Juyeon has the sense to avoid prolonging his goodbyes, opting for a quick wave and a clean exit, and Minho can’t begrudge him for leaving him in the now stifling apartment.

He thinks he should wait for Beomseok to speak. 

In the year that they’ve been roommates, they haven’t really established any rules on this sort of thing. Minho had assumed it was fine, since he’d noticed Beomseok bringing women home on a few occasions. They were both single, and they were both in college. It would be unrealistic to expect a living arrangement devoid of witnessing one night stands.

But there was a reason they were only having this conversation now. For Minho, at least, he preferred to keep his affairs discreet. Minho didn’t mind that Beomseok brought girls home, even made extra breakfast for one of them once when Beomseok had rushed to his 8 am class and left her there. But Minho just wasn’t the type to air out his business like that. Beomseok didn’t need to know who he slept with, nor how often, nor of any sounds that could possibly make it past his bedroom door.

It had been better that way, Minho thinks, as Beomseok levels his eyes on him.

“Was he a friend?” Beomseok finally asks, toeing off his own shoes but remaining by the foyer.

Minho doesn’t feel ashamed, but he finds himself unable to look Beomseok in the eye, anyway, the alarm bells still going off in his head. “Not really.”

“Well, you two seemed pretty friendly,” his roommate says, the sneer evident in his voice.

Minho feels anger rise up in him, but it is tamped down by fear. He hates himself for fearing someone like Beomseok, who will sneer at the person he lives with so easily just because of this – not the sex, because that would make Beomseok one hell of a hypocrite. 

“Are you gay?” Beomseok asks, still sneering, and Minho finds it in him to meet his eyes, full of contempt.

“Yes,” Minho says, seeing no point in pretending otherwise. “Does that bother you?”

Beomseok’s eyes are near-black, all the scorn pooling hideously at the set of his mouth. “I just didn’t know I had a gay roommate, is all.”

They are still standing by the foyer, and Minho keeps his fists balled as he fights the urge to throw down the small pot they use to hold their keys in, the urge to punch the wall beside him, anything.

In all his life, Minho has had this kind of conversation only a few times, with people who hold a high level of importance in his life. On campus, word gets around fairly quickly, and while Minho doesn’t get asked to confirm or deny anything, his university is liberal enough that people don’t care, unless they’re trying to make a move on him. 

He doesn’t like hiding, but he doesn’t like it either when he has to respond to that question asked in this way, so crudely and so devoid of respect.

“Yeah, well, you do,” Minho says, and leaves for his room before he does anything else, or before Beomseok says anything else. He’ll deal with him in the morning.

He blankets himself up to his chin, closes his eyes, and tries not to cry.

Minho does deal with it, because he has no other choice but to do so.

If before, they were hardly in the same room at the same time, Beomseok now makes an effort to linger when Minho is in sight, sliding in snide remarks as if only to get a rise out of him.

He knows Beomseok won’t kick him out, because bringing it up to their mothers would be no easy task. Still, Minho would prefer that instead of the verbal torture he has to endure every day just to keep a roof over his head.

“I’ll start going to the gym alone now, if you don’t mind.”

“Hey, I’m missing a pair of briefs, you didn’t take them, did you?”

“Minho, I’m about to pop in the shower. Don’t look, okay?”

It’s all so stupid, stupid enough that it shouldn’t bother him, but it does. Minho breathes through his nose every time, refusing to take the bait.

Minho didn’t realize he had so much pent-up frustration until one evening in dance class, when he’d kept fucking up one simple move in front of everyone. After going through the routine for the tenth time and still missing the cue for that move, he couldn’t help but let out a short scream. 

He blinks a few times before realizing that his outburst had startled everyone. He says oh, I just wanted to scream, and tries to laugh it off, but even he could tell it wasn’t convincing.

During their 20-minute break, Felix gingerly sits down next to him, and when he asks, “Are you alright?” Minho breaks.

He takes a deep breath and ends up telling him everything – how his roommate has been making his life a living hell, how that’s made it more difficult to juggle his coursework in both fields. He’s still trying to make up for the failing grade he got in Linear Algebra, but he’s finding it harder to do extra credit when he can barely concentrate on his current workload.

Though Felix had his head turned a little ways from Minho's face, he listened intently, eyes sharp.

"It’s too overwhelming. I think I wouldn’t be this bad if I was only dealing with my coursework, because I was already used to that. If I lived with anyone else who’s not an asshole, I’d be fine. It's just that all of these combined affected my life so drastically that I don't even feel like myself anymore," Minho finished, feeling lightheaded but also breathing a bit easier. Venting to Felix helped, at least a little bit, and he feels some tightness in his chest slowly unspooling.

The younger boy had turned to him now, allowing himself a few moments to absorb the weight of his words.

"First of all, hyung, you should take a break, hang out with us outside of practice hours. We've all noticed your absence, and you should really cut yourself some slack."

Minho paused. "You've noticed my absence?"

Felix nodded, meeting Minho's eyes tentatively. "You used to invite us out to dinner, or invite Hyunjin and I at least to that cat cafe you're always raving about. And we understand, Minho. Well, now I do, seeing how much you've been going through the past few weeks."

"Anyway, secondly, I have an idea," Felix continues, before Minho can process what he just said. “You know Chan-hyung?”

Minho vaguely remembers his name, and slowly associates the name to a man he met a few months ago. Blonde hair, broad shoulders, a bit on the short side. Felix introduced them when he dropped by the rehearsal room to meet Felix for lunch.

"Yeah, what about him?"

"Well, he lives in an apartment a couple of blocks down from the main building, and he's been complaining about how expensive the rent is for just one person," Felix says.

"Why hasn't he put out ads for a roommate?" Minho asks.

"He's... well,” Felix pauses, eyes glinting with fondness. “He's either gullible or too nice for his own good. I believe it’s the latter. The last time he had a roommate, he woke up one day to find the dude gone and the spare room cleared out, and all the money that he left hanging around was gone as well. Some of his accessories too. It's a miracle his laptop wasn't stolen, because that would have been a catastrophe we don't ever wanna experience in this lifetime or the next."

Minho ponders this. He only exchanged two words with the guy, who's to say he won't have the same problem?

"Felix," Minho starts, unsure how to phrase the question. "Do you know if... if he has biases against certain people?"

Felix tilts his head in confusion. "Biases? Oh," Felix says, eyes widening, and God bless Felix, because although Minho never explicitly came out to him, he has told Felix about some of his affairs on rare occasions, whenever certain familiar names popped up. He also knows Felix is on the same boat.

"Chan's a good guy. Trust me. He was there for me when I was figuring things out," Felix says with a warm smile.

"Anyway, I'll give you his number, yeah?” he says, wordlessly reaching for Minho’s phone and typing in Chan’s number. “If you want, I can also give him a heads up that someone's interested," he continues, and Minho feels his face heat up even though he knows Felix didn’t mean it that way.

"Sure. Thank you so much, Felix," Minho says. He saves the number and resumes practice with a clearer head, the movements more effectively keeping his intrusive thoughts at bay.

When rehearsal wraps up, Minho remembers his conversation with Felix, and walks over to where he's packing up with Hyunjin. "Hey, wanna grab dinner?" he asks the two of them.

Felix smiles his bright sunny smile, and Hyunjin looks at him like he's just offered to pay for his tuition. "We'd love to," Hyunjin responds, beaming at him, and Minho realizes just how much he’s missed them.

When he gets home, he sighs inwardly as soon as he hears noise in the kitchen. He refuses to have his mood spoiled by his roommate, so he goes straight to his room. I can take a shower later, he thinks, purposely striding towards his door and clicking it shut as quietly as he can.

He whips out his phone, intending to mindlessly scroll through the internet until he doesn't hear anything outside, but when he unlocks his phone, Chan's number greets him.

With a sigh, Minho plops on his bed, wondering if it's too soon for him to contact him, if Felix has even mentioned Minho to Chan at this point. He doesn't even know how to start. Would Chan be creeped out? Would Chan be over-eager to have a roommate, and would Minho be ready to move out that quickly?

The clanging of metal against tile subsides a while later, and Minho ventures a peek into the kitchen. His roommate is gone.

He quickly grabs a change of clothes and sprints to the bathroom in case he comes back out. This is ridiculous, Minho thinks, as the hot water eases the knots in this back and shoulders. He shouldn't have to tiptoe around in his own home. It's supposed to be his place of comfort and solace after a long day, but now he goes home and faces an entirely different set of struggles.

As he lathers shampoo on his scalp, he makes up his mind to talk to Chan the next day at the latest. A branch has been extended to him and he'd be a fool not to reach out and grab it.

Nonetheless, he figures he should be prepared if it doesn’t work out. He goes to bed and falls asleep just before midnight, looking up apartment openings and prices near campus.

That morning, Minho opens his eyes to sunlight peeking out of his blinds, and rolls over to unlock his phone. He sees a notification for one new message.

Felix [1:23am]

hey! told chan already. he seems excited. feel free to msg him anytime

Minho reads the message again, and fully wakes up. He had resolved to not drag this out any longer, so he figures he should just do it and text the guy. What could possibly go wrong? What could be worse than staying here?

He scrolls down his contact list and finds the contact number, opening a new message.

To: Chan

hi, this is minho, felix's friend. he said you were looking for a roomie? let me know if you're open to accepting applicants

Minho sits up in bed, finger hovering over the send button. He counts to three, sends it, and waits.

After two minutes, he stands up and walks out of his room, deciding that breakfast is priority over this guy. He prays his roommate has already gone to campus or is still asleep, because it is too early to deal with him. His phone pings as he finishes making a breakfast sandwich.

Chan [6:56 am]

Hi Minho! I remember you from before, nice to meet you again. I am looking for a roommate, so if you're willing to apply that'd be great! We can talk about it over coffee?

Minho heaves a sigh of relief. He checks his calendar app before responding.

Minho [6:59 am]

i'd love to grab coffee. is thursday 2pm good for you? if not, i can also do friday 3pm.

Minho fixes himself a cup of coffee while he waits for a reply. He eats his sandwich and drinks his coffee, and his phone pings again as he’s just about to step into the shower.

Chan [7:20 am]

Thursday 2pm sounds good. Can we meet at the café across the library?

Minho [7:21 am]

sure, see you then

He leaves for class a while later, successfully managing to avoid Beomseok. He hopes it’s a good omen.

Thursday arrives and it makes Minho relieved but also just a little bit anxious. He doesn't know why there is now a small pile of discarded clothing on his bedroom floor, accumulated in the past hour. It's not like this is a date. Still, Minho prides himself in good first impressions, and if he wants to live with this guy, some effort is warranted, right?

It was nearing 10:30 am, and Minho still had to make it to his 11:00 am lecture. Again, Minho wonders why it’s taking him so long when most days he just picks out a plain shirt, puts on some jeans, and calls it a day. It’s easier, too, since he’d be changing out of his clothes for dance practice anyway, and that takes up a lot of his daily schedule.

He finally settles on a black sweatshirt and his favorite blue jeans, opting to just spice it up with gold drop earrings. And fine, a dab of lipgloss wouldn’t hurt. He grabs his bag and keys and steps out the door, walking the few blocks to his classroom and barely making it in time.

At 1:45 pm, Minho clears his desk at the library and walks out to the café across from it. He tries not to think too much about what Chan would want to know about him. He’ll just come as he is and hopes that Chan will like him enough to take him in.

Minho opens the glass door and looks around. He’d thought he was early, but he sees Chan already waiting at a table by the corner window. He glances up and sees him, and Minho shoots a tentative smile, walking towards him.

Chan’s face is unreadable for a few seconds, before his mouth breaks out in a dimpled smile. “Hi, nice to see you again,” he says, standing up and extending a hand to Minho. He takes it and shakes his hand, warm from being wrapped around a cup of tea.

“Thanks for meeting me,” Minho replies, letting go of his hand and setting down his bag as they sit down.

“Can I get you anything?” Chan asks, fishing his wallet out of his back pocket. Minho declines with an “I’m good, thanks,” and Chan’s smile falters. For a moment he looks as if he’s deciding whether to argue with Minho or let it go, then he ends up putting his wallet back, his mouth turned up in a meek grin.

Minho fiddles with his thumbs, unsure if he should start or if he should let Chan take the lead. It’s his apartment, after all. A few seconds of awkward silence pass, and Chan says, “So, Felix told me you’re looking for a new place? How come?”

It’s the most obvious question, but it’s so loaded that Minho struggles to find the right response. He’s not sure how much to tell Chan, how much a stranger would understand. On one hand, if he tells him just a fraction of what he’s going through, Chan might think he’s too inflexible, too spoiled to work through tough situations. On the other hand, if he tells him everything, he might overshare and scare him away.

He settles for a simple truth.

“Let’s just say my roommate and I have – irreconcilable differences,” Minho says, hoping it will sound sincere but that it also won’t invite further questions.

He cautions a glance at Chan, who is eyeing him with a sympathetic look.

“Must be pretty bad if you’re willing to move in with someone you’ve only spoken to once,” Chan smiles apologetically. “No judgment of course, I’m willing to help you out. College is hell as it is, you shouldn’t be forced to live with people you can’t stand. Hope I won’t be the same.”

Minho’s lips turn up despite himself. “I’m sure you’re not as bad as him, if you’re friends with Felix. I trust his choice of friends.”

Chan laughs. “I get that. He may be tiny, but his bullshit detector is off the charts.”

And God, Minho wishes he were the same. The truth is, as much as he lives his life simply and honestly, he should know that he can’t expect others to be like him. So many people put up walls and layers that Minho usually doesn’t know how to take note of, much less penetrate. It’s how he ends up trusting the wrong people, sometimes. It’s certainly how he got himself into this situation. He may not have been close with Beomseok before everything went wrong, but he had thought he was nice enough to call a friend.

He wonders if he’s reading Chan right. He wonders how Chan is really like, if he’s different than how he seems, if Minho would have to face a similar problem down the road.

But something in Chan’s bright, earnest eyes makes Minho want to trust him. 

“Yeah. He’s a good kid,” Minho replies, now wishing he’d brought Felix along just so he can act like a buffer and make things less awkward. But Minho’s a grown man, he can handle this conversation.

So he asks a question of his own. “I’m not really into any sketchy stuff, but just to make sure, do you have any deal breakers for a roommate?”

Chan looks taken aback. “Wow, I haven’t actually thought about it.” He takes a moment, straightening up in his chair and setting his palms on the table. Minho suddenly regrets not getting anything for himself. It would seem rude if he got up to get something after he declined Chan’s offer, but Minho still finds himself suddenly craving an iced americano.

“I guess the only thing is that they’d have to be okay with noise. Well, not noise, per se, but you see, I’m a music major, and I’m constantly producing music whenever I feel like it,” Chan explains. “If you’re not okay with it, I guess I could soundproof my room? Though I tend to wander out of my room when I’m in the mood sometimes,” he chuckles.

Minho laughs with him. At least that won’t be a problem. “It’s no issue. I sleep like a log.”

“Cool,” Chan says. “How about you though?”

“What about me?”

“What are your deal breakers?” Chan echoes, and he holds Minho’s gaze as he asks it. Minho’s throat closes up, and he’s not sure if it’s from the weight of his stare or of the question.

He’d already asked Felix, and how would you ask that question, anyway? Hey Chan-hyung, are you homophobic?

Minho can trust Felix’s judgment. However, it’s better to be sure, better to avoid a similar scenario from happening. Minho spares a moment to curse Beomseok for causing trust issues he didn’t have before.

“Would you mind if I brought guys over sometimes?” Minho asks, trying not to wince at his straightforwardness. It’s just, he may value his privacy, but if there’s anything the past weeks have taught him, it’s that he should also be more open to the people around him, especially to the one he’s supposed to live with.

Chan’s eyes widen for a split second before schooling his expression into something more neutral. “Not at all. We’re in college, it’d be kind of cruel to stop you from doing that,” Chan laughs, if a little too forced, Minho thinks.

“Good to know,” Minho says, wracking his brain for a way to move on from the topic.

Thankfully, Chan does the talking for him this time. “So, I assume you want to see what the apartment looks like? It’s just a 10-minute walk from here, if you wanna check it out now,” he says.

Minho does have a 5pm rehearsal, but he figures he has more than enough time. “Sounds good,” he says, standing up and hoisting his bag on his shoulder. “Lead the way.”

They walk to the apartment in companionable silence, interrupted by the occasional gaggle of students and the drone of lecturers as they walk past classrooms with the windows open.

The apartment itself is pretty decent, and Chan’s possessions didn’t take as much space as Minho expected it to for someone who has a place all to himself. His belongings in the communal area may be spare, but they invoke bits of his character anyway – a few photos of his family lining a small bookshelf by the TV, vinyls and CDs occupying that bookshelf, a black hoodie strewn over the sofa.

“The spare bedroom is over here,” Chan walks past him to the left of the living room, opening the door to a modest, unfurnished room. Minho looks inside and sees the afternoon sun streaking rays across the hardwood floor. There’s enough space for a bed, a wardrobe, and a desk, which is all that Minho really needs.

Chan then leads him to the kitchen, saying he only cooks basic dishes and thus only has the basic equipment, and Minho chuckles and says it’s enough.

They check out the bathroom, then Chan says his room is a mess but lets him peek anyway, and Minho is awed by the bedroom studio he’s set up for himself. He barely has time to take it all in before Chan is closing the door to his room again, a shy smile on his face.

As they go back out to the living room, Minho only thinks: I could live here.

They sit on the sofa after a while and talk a bit about the utilities, and finally the rent, which is thankfully within Minho’s budget.

He sighs in relief. “Well, I’m really interested in moving in. Are there any more applicants? Do I have to gain your favor?” Minho says in jest, and Chan laughs.

“No, just you. It’s all yours for the taking,” he smiles at Minho again, and he can’t help but think that things are closer to falling into place. They deal with the initial paperwork and agree on Minho’s moving-in date, and Minho bids him goodbye as his rehearsal nears.

“Thanks again, Chan-hyung."

Chan smiles warmly. “It’s my pleasure. See you soon, Minho.”

"You're moving out?"

Jisung stops pacing in the middle of the living room, mouth slightly agape. Minho pauses, placing the shirt he was folding on the sofa as he faces him. "It was a long time coming."

He had invited Jisung over after he talked to Chan. He tells him about moving out as he folds his laundry, trying to stem whatever anxiety he was feeling on how Jisung might react. Minho can count on his fingers the number of people in this university whose opinion he cares about, and Jisung is one of them.

He’d told him a bit about having issues with Beomseok before but he only goes fully into it now, and when he finishes talking, Jisung stares at Minho, face full of regret.

“Dude, I’m sorry I haven’t had the time to catch up with you and find out about this, but I’m glad you’re doing it. And that asshole better be glad he’s not here right now, while I’m here,” Jisung says, his big bright eyes containing so much sincerity and anger on his behalf that it fills Minho with relief, quashing any remaining doubts that he’s doing this wrong.

“Thanks, Jisung. And don’t apologize, I should’ve told you sooner.”

Jisung claps him on the back and starts helping him fold his clothes. “Who is this guy you’re moving in with, anyway?” he asks.

“His name’s Chan. Met him through Felix. He’s from Australi-,” Minho cuts off just when Jisung stands up abruptly, folded shirt falling and coming undone. 

“Bang Chan? You’re moving in with Bang Chan?”

Minho nods, a bit worried for a moment that he may have had the wrong impression of the guy after all.

“Dude, that’s insane. Chan is the closest friend I have in my major. This is boggling my mind. He’s great, Minho-hyung,” Jisung sits down again, pulling up his leg and half-sitting on it, all but bouncing as he continues talking. “He’s so nice and he has taught me so much already. I can’t wait for all of us to hang out together!” he says, dislodging more clothes.

Minho swats him and tells him to stay still, but he can’t help but smile at the revelation. If Jisung knows him and likes him enough to praise him, then he’s definitely a good guy.

Things do look up for Minho when he moves out.

As much as he’d grown to detest Beomseok, he decided to leave without much fanfare. The day he and Chan came to an agreement, he waited for Beomseok so he could tell him. He might hate the guy, but he still felt bad about leaving him to cover the cost of the rent all by himself. At least if he told him immediately, he may be able to look for a roommate to replace him with.

He had expected Beomseok to be angry and he was a little scared that he would act out, so he told Jisung about it ahead just in case anything happened. But Beomseok was only stunned, sprinting to his room afterward and slamming the door. He’d given him the cold shoulder during his last days in the apartment, quitting any and all of his usual side comments, and it was frankly a blessing. Minho couldn’t wait to move out.

When the day came, Chan drove to his place with a car, coming with a guy he introduced as Changbin. The latter apparently owned the car and was also willing to help Minho carry his boxes.

When they were done loading all the boxes in the car, he’d given Beomseok a final handshake, and that was it. He was free.

Living closer to campus helped him a lot. Having Chan as a roommate helped even more.

Befriending Chan came more naturally to Minho than he expected, but maybe it’s because Chan is just so… Chan. He was impossible to dislike. 

After a week, Minho found himself cooking meals for the both of them, something he hadn’t been in the habit of doing when he was still living with Beomseok. They ate dinner together and Minho found himself talking about his day, whining about random things that bother him, even telling Chan about the times he feels homesick.

It’s entirely new for Minho and he thinks maybe it should bother him, but it doesn’t. Whatever parts of Minho he gives for the taking, Chan handles with the same amount of care he would afford to a newborn baby. Or a puppy. Or any living thing that needs care, for that matter.

Chan is careful about everything. Since Minho moved in, he never leaves his clothes on any communal space. There were almost never any stray socks, towels, or even hoodies left out in the open. He’d also asked Minho if it was okay for him to get a plant, even though Minho thought he could get anything he wanted, since it’s his place after all.

Maybe that was what made it so nice, though. Even though he’d just moved in, Chan had always made Minho feel that he had a say in everything, and that his say was just as important.

He should be getting used to how nice Chan is, the more time he lives with him. But even after constant conversations and numerous thoughtful gestures, Chan still manages to surprise him.

As it turns out, he has the insane ability to detect if Minho’s having a bad day. It impresses Minho to no end, especially since he always makes a conscious effort not to show it. The only other person who can read Minho that well is Jisung, and Jisung has known him nearly all his life. Felix also picks up on his moods quite often, but Felix is Felix. He has a planet-sized emotional quotient that shouldn’t fit in his tiny body, but somehow does.

Chan comes through for him when Minho gets his score back for his Electronics exam.

It wasn’t a failing grade, but it’s close, and Minho will have to work his ass off to make up for it by finals. He doesn’t quite panic like he did when he got his Linear Algebra exam back, but he sulks nonetheless.

He gets home and he’s so frustrated that he doesn’t even make it all the way to his room just yet. He doesn’t know how long he’s been lying on the sofa for, just scrolling through photos of his cats, but eventually he hears the front door open.

Minho manages a feeble “hey” to Chan, not really having any energy for more conversation, but Chan walks up to him anyway, sitting on the floor by the sofa and catching a glance at his phone. “Hey. Are those your cats?”

“Yeah,” Minho says reflexively, pausing at a photo of the three of them on their tree in the living room at home. “This one’s Soonie, this one’s Doongie, and that one is Dori,” he continues, pointing at each of them fondly.

Chan smiles as he peers closer, saying, “They’re very cute. Do you miss them?”

And Minho’s chest gets heavier, confronted with the fact that he does. He really does. He wishes he could gather them up in his arms when he comes home every day, wishes he could wake up with at least one of them on top of his chest, wishes he could pet them during study breaks. But as it stands, all he can do is admit it out loud. “Yeah. Every day.”

Chan nods sympathetically. “Must be hard to live away from them. What stopped you from bringing them with you?”

Minho turns his head sideways to look at him, to meet his eyes that are so full of concern, all because Minho misses his cats. He wonders how Chan does it sometimes, just cares about every little thing even when it doesn’t affect him in the slightest.

“I wanted to. But my ex-roommate didn’t really want pets in our old apartment, so I had to leave them with my parents,” Minho fights back a sigh. He should be done complaining about Beomseok, to Chan least of all, as he was the person who helped him get out of that situation. But Chan only pats him on the shoulder and speaks again.

“Well, I, for one, absolutely adore all pets. So feel free to have them visit, or even keep them here, if you want,” Chan says, as if it’s nothing, as if it doesn’t mean the whole world to Minho.

He swings his legs down and lowers himself to the floor to face Chan, who has his legs crossed and knees halfway drawn up to his chest. Minho thinks back to what Felix said when he first talked to him about Chan. He really was too kind for his own good.

“Chan-hyung, thank you for saying that. But there’s a reason I understood why my ex-roommate didn’t agree to have pets. Three cats take up a lot of space, and require a lot of work in caring for them,” Minho starts.

“I know, and I don’t mind. I’m willing to help,” Chan says readily, not even letting Minho finish, and that takes him even more by surprise. He only meant to say that he’ll need to set up feeding and playing spaces in the apartment, not intending to ask Chan for help. He didn’t want to place that burden on him when he’s already doing so much.

But Chan had offered out of his own good will, and Minho feels his chest constrict, but because of something else this time. If only he could figure out what it was.

“Are you absolutely sure?” Minho asks in the most serious tone he could muster as his heart beats louder.

“I’m sure,” Chan says, and when he smiles at Minho, he doesn’t think before leaning forward to hug him. “Thank you, Chan-hyung” is all he says, and he hopes Chan knows how much it means to him, as he wraps his arms tighter around his shoulders.

Chan squeezes him back. “It's no problem. And Minho, you can call me Chris, if you’d like to,” he says, surprising Minho.

He pulls back to look at him quizzically. “Really?” he asks, keeping his hands on Chan's shoulders and meeting his eyes.

“Really,” he insists, dimpled smile back in full force. Minho catches himself staring at the slope of his lips as he smiles, perfectly and pleasantly curved. He trains his gaze back to Chan’s eyes before trying the name out.

“Okay, then,” he says, a nervous laugh bubbling up from his chest. “Thank you, Chris.”

Chan

Chan is officially screwed.

He knows that, as smart as his parents say he is and as mature as his friends think he is, he is very much prone to making bad calls. 

When he was 10, his homeroom teacher berated him for signing up for all the school clubs, telling him it just wasn’t possible to make that many commitments. 

When he was 18, he’d gotten in trouble for punching a fellow senior, which he only did because he heard him call another student by a slur.

When he was 21 and he first saw Minho, toweling off as he stood to the side of Felix’s rehearsal room, Chan made the bad decision of letting his mouth open without thinking. “What’s his name?” he asked Felix, who then fixed him with a gleeful, mischievous smile.

Instead of answering him, Felix called out, “Minho-hyung!” And much to Chan’s horror, the gorgeous stranger – Minho – looked up and started walking towards them, training those beautiful, cat-like eyes right at him.

“I wanted to introduce you to Chan-hyung, my friend from Australia,” Felix lightly slapped Chan on the back and it breaks him from his daze long enough to propel himself forward. “Hi,” he said lamely, extending a hand.

Minho had shaken it and smiled, eyes sparkling so prettily. “Nice to meet you, Chan.”

When Chan first saw Minho, he wished he could see him again. And again. And again. He just didn’t expect it to happen like this.

He’d felt it since he saw Minho fixing the kitchen ceiling light, the one he’d been meaning to change since last month, out of his own initiative. He’d suspected it even when Minho helped him carry two boxes of new equipment upstairs, trying not to fixate on his strong arms and short breaths.

If Chan were to be completely honest with himself, he’d thought about it ever since the first time he met Minho for coffee, when he’d been struck by just how insanely attractive Minho was up close.

But now, Chan is sure. He is so, very screwed. All it took was Minho’s cats coming home to him, and Chan witnessing this other side of Minho – the goddamn cat daddy side – before he was sure he liked him. He really, really liked him.

He’s long accepted that he’ll never fully understand Lee Minho – all the quirks that somehow come in harmony with his simplicity as a human being.

Chan knows he sticks to a rigid routine, that he needs it to be able to keep up with the demands of his customized program. Chan also knows that he listens to Park Hyoshin in the shower. Chan knows Minho has a punching bag in his room, and he knows that sometimes, Minho will lay for hours on the living room carpet, scrolling away on his phone and occasionally staring at the ceiling, only getting up when the sun has set.

And Chan likes all of it. He wants more of it, wants to know as much of Minho as he will let Chan see. He saw more of it, alright, once Soonie, Doongie, and Dori started living in the apartment with them.

He was just so tender with them, in a way Chan had never seen before. The week before they came home, Minho had taken care of all the supplies, storing them in his room and only leaving the toys in the corner of the living room, even though Chan insisted it was okay to leave cat supplies wherever it was convenient. But Minho had always been considerate, and Chan would admit it was part of what made him so likeable.

The day they came home, Minho was the happiest he’d ever seen him.

He just kept smiling the entire afternoon. It had been a Saturday, thankfully, and he’d spent that time cuddling with his cats in different areas in the living room – lying with them on the sofa, playing with them on the little sunlit corner, even watching TV with them at one point.

Chan had watched when he’d come out for snacks in the kitchen, and seeing sunlight dance around Minho and his cats made his heart hammer in his chest. That was the moment he knew he had fallen.

They’ve been living together for two months now and Chan is glad they have taken well with each other's friends. Changbin and Jisung come over enough that they’re like third and fourth roommates at this point, and occasionally they all go out for dinner and work out at the gym.

Of course, Chan was already friends with Felix, and when Felix comes over he almost always brings Hyunjin along, and Chan becomes well-acquainted with him, too.

Then one day, in one huge coincidence, Minho brings Felix and Hyunjin over to work on a group choreo together, just as Chan, Changbin, and Jisung are polishing up a track. It fascinates Chan, how long their friend groups have always just drifted around one another, and now he’s overjoyed that they’re all in one place.

Changbin suggests ordering takeout, and everyone agrees.

Soon enough, the food arrives, and Jisung’s already picked out a popular rom com with no less than an amused snort from Hyunjin. They all settle down around the living room, food laid out in front of them, and the film’s dialogue provides a nice backing track to their simple, amiable dinner.

Chan is sitting next to Minho, who positioned himself between the cat tree and the sofa, just within reach of his sleepy cats. He pets Doongie in between bites of his food, and when Doongie lets out the tiniest purr, Chan melts.

They do this enough times that it shouldn’t feel weird. Minho cooks for the both of them regularly that they often have breakfast and dinner together, before and after their respective classes. They always find something to talk about, and if not, it has miraculously never been awkward.

It took a while for Chan to process, but Minho’s silence usually doesn’t mean that he’s uncomfortable or upset, not necessarily even in deep thought. It usually just means he’s content enough to just be quiet, to just be present as himself.

Chan is snapped out of his thoughts when the group laughs, and he catches Minho rolling his eyes. Chan turns back towards the television and sees the lead couple already kissing after – he checks his watch – half an hour.

“Can’t wait to see how that turns out,” Minho says cheekily, a contrast to his slow, gentle pets on a now sleeping Doongie.

“What do you think will happen?” Chan asks, setting down his bowl and chopsticks. Minho looks at him for a moment before answering.

“They’ll bone. They’ll say the L word. They’ll break up after two weeks,” Minho says in a matter-of-fact tone and scoffs in amusement. It’s a lot of expression for someone who’s still petting a sleeping cat.

“Wow. Who hurt you?” Chan says without thinking, and winces as he realizes how insensitive that must have been. He immediately tries to backtrack, but Minho is smirking at him like he’s pleasantly surprised him.

“No one special,” Minho replies. Chan would leave it at that, but he keeps talking. “It was several years ago, anyway,” Minho says, looking in the general direction of the television, but Chan can tell he’s not really watching.

For the second time in this conversation, Chan speaks without consulting his brain first. “Have you tried again, recently?” 

It takes everything in Chan not to make a joke of it or laugh it off, because he realizes some part of him does want to know the answer.

Minho gives him a long look, nibbling his lip. Chan spends another extra amount of courage to keep his eyes on Minho’s.

“I don’t really do the whole dating thing anymore,” he says, and it’s not quite sad, but not quite content, either.

Chan’s heart drops to his stomach. He doesn’t know how much to ask, if he should even ask. Minho’s still staring at him and he takes it as good of a cue as any. “Did he hurt you that bad, or is there another reason?”

“It’s just,” Minho sighs. “People do come on to me. And I do appreciate the attention sometimes. I even entertained some of them. But,” he pauses, hand stilling on Doongie’s fur.

“It didn’t take me long to realize that they only wanted me because I’m pretty, or popular, or both, actually,” he turns towards Chan with a self-deprecating smile. “Once we got past the physical aspect, the grinding at parties and kissing at alleyways stage, they didn’t really want to stay with me.”

Chan’s stunned, and angry on his behalf. This was Minho – pretty and popular are just two of the million words he would use to describe him. He tells him as much.

“They must be extremely dumb, then,” Chan starts. “Why wouldn’t they want to stay? You’re kind, you’re intelligent, you’re really skilled and passionate at dancing-,” he could go on, but Minho cuts him off with, “You haven’t even seen me dance!”

“I have,” he says, and mentally slaps himself. No point in denying it now. He looks sheepishly at Minho. “Felix shows me videos of your group choreographies sometimes. You really stand out, you know.” And he doesn’t just say it to comfort him; he doesn’t say it because he likes him. He genuinely can’t take his eyes off of Minho whenever Felix shows him their videos. 

When Minho smiles at him, it’s not smug at all. “Thanks, Chris. It means a lot, coming from you.” His smile reaches his eyes and his cheeks get bunched up and Chan is melting all over again.

The weeks pass, and Minho starts asking Chan to catsit for him sometimes. It’s an honor for Chan, an opportunity to get better acquainted with Minho’s brothers, as he calls them.

Soonie might like him the most, always curling up to him when he sits on the floor, careful not to dislodge his laptop while petting the orange cat. Dori is more timid but he’s always up for playtime with Soonie when Chan whips out their toys. Doongie is a little tricky.  Chan tries not to take it personally when he responds to his cooing by directing a piercing stare at him.

Minho always tells him he’s doing so well with the cats, that they normally don’t take to other people so easily. It makes Chan’s heart swell with pride, but he stops himself from thinking he’s special.

He doesn’t hope. 

He knows that Minho asked, that first time they grabbed coffee together, if he could bring guys over.  And Chan would have been fine with it, as he tells himself, but it’s either Minho’s extremely good at keeping it from him, or he has never brought anyone over in the time since he started living with him.

He doubts it’s the former. Chan is awake most nights, doing homework on the sofa or in the dining room as he nibbles on a snack. He wouldn’t have missed it if Minho brought a guy over.

Perhaps that was the problem. Minho knows Chan is constantly up at odd hours and he might be apprehensive about bringing someone home if Chan is right there. Oh God. Has Chan been unintentionally cockblocking Minho all this time?

Just in case he’s not overthinking it, he makes an effort to work from his room more often now. He makes dinner earlier and stocks snacks in his room to lessen his trips to the kitchen.

More weeks pass and Minho still hasn’t brought anyone over.

He doesn’t hope.

Minho invites him to their midterm showcase. Chan sits up front with Jisung and Changbin, as well as Seungmin and Jeongin, who have been friends with Minho and Jisung since high school. 

When he sees Minho dance on stage for the first time, the air is ripped out of his lungs. A hard-hitting dance track starts playing, and Minho’s entire demeanor transforms. Chan finds himself transfixed at his cool, confident gaze coupled with the sensual curve of his lip. He starts dancing, all defined and synchronized moves with his own distinct, powerful style. Then Minho rolls his hips once, twice, during the chorus, and Chan blanks out.

This is the same guy who dresses his kitties up in little costumes. This is the guy who once made pancakes in the shape of Chan’s worm drawing that he saw lying around on the coffee table. This is the guy who walks out and plops down on their sofa at eleven o’clock in the evening, unable to choose between hunger and sleep. Chan is unable to look away.

After the program, he spots Minho as he walks up to them from backstage, face flushed but radiant nonetheless. “You were incredible, Minho,” he says, pulling him into a hug before he can stop himself. He hears Minho inhale sharply next to his ear, and he tries not to fixate on the other’s hands resting on the small of his back, even as they pull apart.

“Thanks, Chris,” he responds, looking up at him through his lashes and smiling a different kind of smile, one that would almost be shy if his eyes weren’t fully sparkling with happiness. It’s a smile Chan doesn’t really see often.

He still doesn’t hope.

The next few weeks are hell for Chan. And for Minho, too, he supposes, noticing the dark circles under his roommate’s eyes. They are approaching the end of their junior and sophomore year, respectively, and the load has never felt so heavy.

They are both so strung out that they barely catch each other at home. The rare times they do, it’s mostly to ask where the other is off to as they put on their sneakers at the foyer.

One night, Chan miraculously finishes his homework before midnight. He is too proud of himself to consider turning in early, so he pulls out his phone to order some takeout, settling himself in the living room and flipping through the new Netflix entries.

He hears Minho come in just as he’s scrolling through the 24-hour diners on the delivery app.

“Hi, wanna order food with me?” Chan calls out, only then turning to look at Minho stepping into the living room. Any other words die in his brain.

Chan has lived with Minho long enough to see him dressed up and dressed down in every way. He sees Minho in pajamas all the time. He sees him dress up for class presentations, or for Saturday brunch with Hyunjin and Felix. He’s seen him dress for dance performances. The way he’s dressed now shouldn’t be anything special: it’s just a white shirt and black jeans, typical Minho.

Except Minho is glowing – Chan doesn’t know how else to describe it, the bright smile Minho is giving him with his eyes curving up so prettily, the way his hair and his oversized white shirt are just this side of wet. It was raining earlier in the day, but Chan isn’t sure if it was still raining when Minho was on his way home. 

He looks disheveled like this and perhaps he did get soaked by the rain, but he still looks so radiant. On some level, Chan thinks it’s cruel that that’s possible for him, that he can just show up like this unannounced just by virtue of living here and being his roommate. Minho’s kind of beauty should come with a warning, he thinks, still staring. He wills himself to look away and to not be a total creep.

“Sorry, I’m dripping all over the floor. I’ll mop it up in a bit,” Minho says, smiling. For a moment, a sick thought crosses through Chan’s mind – that someone might have made him this happy. Someone may have made him this blissed out and rumpled. 

It is most certainly none of his business.

“You look chipper today,” his mouth decides to say, completely disconnected from the thought process he just had. Chan mentally kicks himself.

But Minho only smiles even wider. “Yeah, I’m in a good mood actually,” he responds, bending down to give quick kisses to his cats in greeting. Chan only feels a slight pang of jealousy. “Let me just take a shower and change, then I’ll tell you about it. Oh, and I’ll just have whatever you’re having!” Minho finishes as he practically hops to his room.

Chan is left pondering in the living room, ordering tteokbokki for the both of them on a whim. Surely Minho wouldn’t be this eager to tell Chan about it if it was just a dick appointment.

If it was a date, however, Chan could see why Minho would be excited. And he did talk to Chan about his apprehension over it before. Maybe he had found someone who sees him for who he is, and Chan could never begrudge anyone who makes Minho smile like that.

He stops himself from overthinking, though, and settles for only-sort-of-breathless anticipation for Minho’s actual story.

The man resurfaces only a little later, hair towel-dried and a fresh set of pajamas donned on. His cheeks are tinged pink, perhaps from a hot shower, or perhaps because of the same reason he still hasn’t stopped smiling. Chan would find it weird if he didn’t find it so endearing, worries of missing his shot aside.

Minho sits down on the sofa next to Chan, cross-legged, his whole body turned towards him. Chan slides his knee up on the sofa and turns to face him as well, awkwardly laying a hand on the back of the sofa.

He has his full attention on him, all ears, but all Minho does is to start chuckling.

“I’m sorry! I’m not laughing at you, I promise,” Minho says when Chan gives him a slight, confused smile in response to his laughter. “It’s just that, we look so serious sitting like this, but what I’m about to share isn’t really that serious at all.”

Chan grins at him for real, then. “Tell me now.”

Minho heaves a sigh, the corners of his lips still turned up. “We finally made a breakthrough.”

And Chan still has no idea what that means and if that confirms or denies his suspicions, but he doesn’t get time to ask for more details as the doorbell starts ringing.

“Hang on, I’ll get it,” he says, standing up and walking towards the door. He pays and thanks the delivery man, closes the door, then walks back to their spot on the sofa with their food in tow.

“Go ahead, I can talk while you eat,” Minho says, but Chan shakes his head. “It can wait, I want to listen,” he says.

Minho’s cheeks turn even more pink at that, and Chan has never wanted anything more than to cup his cheeks while he blushes and smiles, to feel his soft, small face between his hands. Instead, he tells himself to focus on what Minho says next. 

“Hyunjin and I finally worked out our choreo for the year-end showcase,” he says softly, and with his head turned down in a pleased smile, in contrast to how giggly and giddy he was when he first came home.

Chan compensates for it by bouncing in his seat, and it pulls a smile out of the man in front of him. “Minho, that’s great! Tell me more,” he says, and Minho’s face becomes even brighter.

“I’m just really proud, because we’ve been stuck on our previous choreo for ages. But then I – well we-,” Minho says, chuckling nervously for a bit, “-got hit by this crazy bolt of inspiration this afternoon and just made an entirely new one, from start to finish,” he finishes.

He hasn’t stopped smiling, but he looks down again, absentmindedly drawing circles on the sofa space between them. “I hope you - I hope people will like it.”

Chan chooses not to mind that correction. Or slip of tongue? Correction. Definitely a correction.

“Hey, if you’re this happy about it, I know people will love it. Your performances are so amazing because you’re so passionate about it, on top of your talent,” Chan says. He’s been saying it since before, but after watching their midterm showcase, his admiration for Minho had only gotten bigger. He hopes Minho believes it.

“Thank you, Chris,” Minho says, and he calls him Chris so rarely that Chan blinks at him for a moment before smiling at him. The man offers him another smile in return, but this time, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Is there anything else that’s been bothering you? You were pretty drenched earlier-”

“No, it was just that!” Minho says, laughing it off. “It wasn’t really raining that hard, but I brisk-walked here because I was kinda just excited to tell you,” he continues, reaching a hand up to rub his neck. Chan feels his own face warming up, hoping against hope that his pale skin won’t give him away.

“Thanks for telling me, Minho. I’m really happy you and Hyunjin worked it out,” Chan says, and he could say so much more, shower Minho with compliments on his brilliance and agility and just all-around capability, but he holds his tongue.

“You know I’m always rooting for you,” he says instead, and he hopes it is enough.

Minho continues staring at him for a while before his lips pull up in another gentle smile. “I do know, and it means the world to me, Chan-hyung.”

Chan doesn’t know how many seconds pass as they keep staring at each other in silence. Eventually, Minho coughs and says, “Hey, our food’s getting cold.”

Chan breaks eye contact with him and wills his own face to cool down. “Yeah, let’s eat,” he says, unwrapping the plastic and pulling out their food. He hands Minho his food and they start eating, the sounds of their chewing breaking through the air around them.

When they’re halfway through eating their food, Minho sets his chopsticks down and speaks. “I know we already ordered dinner, but I’m kinda craving milk tea right now. Would you like some? My treat,” he says while chewing a bit of leftover food in his mouth.

“Sure,” Chan says, and they resume eating as Minho places an order for two milk teas.

They finish their dinner before the milk tea arrives, and they find themselves sitting in silence again. Finally, Chan asks, “Wanna watch something?” and Minho nods, if a little too abruptly, fishing the remote out from the side of the sofa.

They slide through the Netflix selections, halfheartedly bickering and trying to choose between yet another romcom and a horror film Minho’s been meaning to watch.

Chan gives in, because it does look like a good movie, but also because he doesn’t know how to refuse anything of Minho when he looks at him with his beautiful doe eyes and speaks one perfectly uttered plea of Please, hyung, you’ll like it.

So they watch the movie, stock full of paranormal occurrences and pitiful characters, and when Minho slides even closer to him on the sofa, Chan’s heart beats faster for an entirely different reason.

A white figure crosses the frame and Minho jolts so violently, one hand landing on Chan’s thigh. The figure passes through, but Minho’s hand stays on his thigh, much to Chan’s internal distress.

They are way too close. Chan’s heart is in his throat. Distantly, a scream pierces through the television, but Chan almost doesn’t hear it, too focused on how the pressure of Minho’s hand gets even heavier on his thigh as it happens.

When the scream fades, Minho turns to him, eyes indecipherable. “Are you okay?”

Their faces are so, so close. If Chan was brave, he’d place his hand on top of Minho’s. If he was brave, he’d tangle their fingers together, use his other hand to cup his face and pull him closer. If he was brave, he’d give in and kiss Minho like he’s been wanting to for a long, long time.

Chan could be brave.

He goes with what his gut tells him and he lays his hand on Minho’s, still on his thigh, instantly feeling it turn upward and tangle with his fingers. Chan is electrified at the response. “Minho-” he says, as the man takes a breath within an inch of Chan’s face.

But just then, the doorbell rings and they jolt apart. They look at each other with equally surprised faces before Chan gathers his bearings and moves to open the door. He is greeted by the delivery man, holding out their milk tea.

Chan accepts the drinks and pays for them in a haze, closing the door softly. When he walks back to the sofa, the television is turned off, and Minho is silent.

Chan’s brain screams at him to do something as he sets their milk tea down on the coffee table.

“Um,” he says stupidly, trying his best not to sound panicked.

“It’s getting late,” Minho says, standing up and taking his milk tea from the table. “I’ll put this in the fridge. Forgot I have an early class tomorrow, I have to turn in.”

Chan wants to say something, anything to stop him before he loses sight of him. But he stays silent as Minho walks to the kitchen, places the drink in the fridge, then walks back towards his room.

“Good night, Chan-hyung,” he says, with a sense of finality that makes Chan shiver, as he hears the door to Minho’s room click shut.

Minho

“Sup, hyung?”

“Oh, thank God.”

He knows Jisung always sleeps later than he does, but Minho still heaves a sigh of relief when he picks up. He might explode if he has to think about this by himself all night.

“I’m kinda losing my mind, ‘Sung,” Minho whispers in the darkness of his room, hearing a confused noise from Jisung on the other end of the line.

“What’s wrong, Minho-hyung?” he says, voice laced with concern, and Minho tosses in his bed as he tries to find the accurate response.

It wasn’t anything wrong. Or at least, it wouldn’t have been anything wrong if Minho knew exactly what was going on. If he did, he’d know how to move on from there.

“I think- I think Chan and I almost kissed,” Minho says, even quieter, but Jisung lets out a loud yelp all the same. 

“You what! What do you mean almost? Don’t tell me you blew him off, Lee Minho,” and Minho still has half a mind to clear his throat, before Jisung follows that up with, “Hyung.”

“Be thankful I’m too stressed right now to call you out on that.”

“You’re still sort of calling me out on it, so the world is still spinning. What the hell happened, hyung?”

Minho recounts the events of the night, ignoring Jisung’s interjections of You are such a flirt, hyung, and I didn’t know you had it in you.

Finally, he gets to the almost-kiss, and Minho’s entire face burns just talking about it. It’s been at least a couple of hours and he still hasn’t stopped thinking about it – the whiff of Chan’s cologne as he leaned closer, the soft fabric of his sweatpants when Minho pressed a careful hand to his thigh.

It had been way too deliberate and way too intimate for them to pretend like it never happened. But somehow, that’s what they did. He doesn’t want to think about how they’re going to face each other tomorrow.

Jisung’s voice snaps him back to attention. “Hyung. What’s the problem, really? What’s stopping you from picking up where you left off? He’s about twenty steps away from you, surely you can walk that far.”

Minho rubs a hand over his face. “The problem, ‘Sung, is I don’t know if he even wants me to. I don’t even know if he likes me.”

“And do you like him?”

Jisung’s question drives the point home. The thing about Minho not catching feelings for people so easily is that it becomes undeniable when he does. It unmoors him. It rattles the sense of stability he works hard for every day of his life.

He loves trying new things and he loves challenges. When he decides to take one on, he finds a way to incorporate it into his routine, to fit it in the mold of his life.

Feelings are out of his control and complicated, all the more so when it’s with the person you live with.

How can Minho peacefully eat breakfast when Chan is walking around half-naked in the living room, toned abs in full view, looking for his moisturizer? How can Minho focus on his schoolwork when his head is still replaying the amazing track that Chan played for him one night, asking for his opinion? How can Minho go on with his days when all he’s thinking about is Chan saying You were incredible, Minho, wondering if it meant something more?

He sighs and voices it out loud for the first time. “I do.”

“Then why don’t you tell him and see how he reacts?”

Because Minho is terrified. Minho has his fears and he always pushes himself to conquer them, and he succeeds, most of the time. He went ziplining with Jisung despite his previously debilitating fear of heights. He lived out of sight from his cats for the better part of freshman year, dealing with it only through video calls. He fears failure more than he’d like to admit, and that only motivates him to work harder.

But the fear of losing Chan – not just as a roommate, but as someone he loves spending time with, someone who makes his head spin just by flashing that dimpled smile, someone he deeply admires for his unbelievable kindness and talent – he doesn’t think he would feel anything close to triumph if he conquers that.

Minho doesn’t see Chan the next morning. He doesn’t see him at all for the whole day.

He shouldn’t be surprised – they haven’t really been seeing a lot of each other the past few weeks because of how busy they are, even before that happened.

He keeps himself occupied and his cats keep him company, and he tries to take Jisung’s word for it when he messages He’s with us, hyung, don’t worry.

For the second time this year, Minho is crashing. It’s too overwhelming – the very same thought he had 8 months ago when he was failing Linear Algebra, when he came home exhausted every day after breaking his bones at practice, when Beomseok made it clear that he thinks he’s inferior to him just because he’s gay.

The very same thought he kept thinking, right before he met Chan.

Ironically, Minho found himself reminiscing about their first meetup, when their relationship was more rough around the edges, all stilted conversations and clear-cut boundaries. It didn’t last because Chan is too Chan to be awkward with, but Minho still remembers it.

He kind of misses how simple it was compared to whatever he feels now when Chan walks into the living room. Their living room. Their shared space.

He thinks back to when he’d wondered what kind of front Chan could have, and if he had the courage to seek beyond it. It boggles Minho’s mind now, how open he is with Chan like he is with no one else.

It was just so easy. Minho likes a lot of things about Chan but he thinks what he likes most is his unabashed honesty, if not in his words then written all over his actions, the lines of his face crumpling when Minho so much as shares a sentiment like I’m tired. I miss home.

Chan always knew the right words without being pretentious or overbearing about it, putting a smile back on Minho’s face before he knew it.

And Chan would always be this genuine no matter the reason, even if it’s something as trivial as Minho complaining about the snow because the streets will be so slippery. He only smiled at Minho and told him to be extra careful, to call him for help if he falls and can’t get up.

“You guys are the same,” Jisung tells him when they meet up for dinner. “You’re both pretty self-sufficient, but when something goes wrong – and it’s inevitable,” Jisung cuts in before Minho could protest. “No one’s life is perfect, much less the lives of college students,” and that shuts him up.

“As I was saying, when something goes wrong, you still go about your days pretending that you have it together, for everybody else’s sake.” 

Minho doesn’t know how to respond.

“Hyung,” Jisung says when the silence goes on for too long. “I’ve known you forever,” and Minho buries his face in his hands, letting out a muffled Ughhh. He wants to stop whatever emotional speech Jisung is about to give, but he doesn’t have the heart to. After all his venting to Jisung the past few days, it’s the least he could do to listen to him.

“For years now, I’ve told you that you can count on me, too, but I don’t blame you for not needing my help a lot. You’re good at taking care of yourself.”

“Thanks,” Minho says, just as Jisung punctuates that statement with, “Most times.”

Minho doesn’t glare at him. Not quite.

“Come on, you know you don’t intimidate me with your marble face anymore,” Jisung chuckles.

And oh how far we’ve come, Minho thinks. In fifth grade, Minho had sat next to Jisung in art club, and the younger would flinch every time he so much as asked to borrow a pencil.

But God bless Han Jisung and his kind, kind soul for noticing that Minho ate lunch alone, gathering the guts to talk to him despite his inexplicable fear of him, and finally asking Minho if he wanted to eat together. They’ve been inseparable ever since.

“I do need you, ‘Sung,” Minho says, because he does. He doesn’t say it often, but he needs him to know that his life would be so messy and sad without him, that their friendship means the world to him.

Jisung flashes his heart-shaped smile in return, and for the first time in a week, Minho thinks he’ll be okay. He could go on with his life as long as he has his best friend by his side.

“What do I do here, ‘Sung? You know the both of us, you might have the best perspective,” Minho says.

Jisung takes a sip of his iced americano, thinking, or at least making it seem like he is. “I might have a groundbreaking solution for you, hyung. Hear me out and try not to shit your pants,” he says, turning in his spot and assuming the Thinker pose. “How about... you try talking to him?”

Minho gets up and makes to leave the cafe, shaking off a laughing Jisung who’s pulling at his arm to stop him.

Begrudgingly, Minho admits Jisung is right.

He used to be good at this. He would turn down suitors, even the most persistent ones, even the ones he did like, ripping the bandaid off and letting any lingering wounds heal naturally.

But now, he doesn’t even know what he could possibly say to Chan. He goes home and falls asleep thinking of all the different ways to verbalize how his chest feels when he misses him.

Minho finally sees Chan an entire 26 hours later.

He arrives home just as Minho picks at his food while watching reruns of a random soap, and Minho internally sighs in relief that he’s here, he’s safe, regardless of whatever might happen next.

He toes off his shoes, and when he looks up at Minho from where he’s still stationed at the door, he smiles tentatively. The vice gripping Minho’s heart eases off just the slightest bit.

Minho returns a smile that’s just as small. He doesn’t say anything as Chan walks past him, going towards the kitchen. Neither of them speak as Chan goes through the fridge and sees the packed lunch Minho made for him. Moments later, he takes it out and quietly thanks Minho for the food, making his way towards his room. Minho breaks.

“Hyung,” he says, soft enough that Chan could pretend that he didn’t hear it, if he wanted to.

He doesn’t. “Yes?” 

“Are you okay?”

“I am, don’t worry.”

Minho doesn’t even really think through it, he just has to ask. “Are you still coming to see the showcase?”

Chan doesn’t say anything for another second, and Minho almost follows it up with You don’t have to, when he responds, “Of course. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He meets Minho’s eyes and grins at him one more time, then goes into his room, closing the door softly behind him.

That’s all Minho needs at the moment. In a couple of days, he’ll be able to show him. He finishes off his dinner, washes the plates, and goes in his own room. He waits for sleep as he goes over the choreography in his head, anticipating what’s to come.

On the day of the showcase, Minho leaves the house and gets to the performance stage really early, squeezing in just a few more rounds of rehearsal alone. He mostly just does this to calm the frenzied nerves that are wracking his brain, and it works, to an extent.

Hyunjin finds him just an hour later, and immediately asks, “Why are you practicing without me?”

Minho shrugs and just says, “You’ve already got it, Hyunjin.”

The other dancer flushes and gives him the tiniest smile, before saying, “Could never be too prepared. But you’ve got this too, hyung. We can do this. You can do this.”

And God, he sure hopes so.

When the evening sets in, Minho looks at his reflection one more time before leaving it be, deciding he’s done as much as he could to prepare. When he looks out at the crowd, he sees Jisung up front, chatting away with Changbin. Chan is still nowhere to be seen.

He tries not to freak out about it. There’s still time for him to make it.

When he looks out again five minutes later, he spots Seungmin and Jeongin, seated in the third row, and he sees his parents now also in the front row. Chan is still absent, and he sees Jisung looking around the auditorium as well.

The stage manager says they have ten more minutes until the program starts. Minho sneaks a glance one more time and breathes a sigh of relief when he finally sees him. Minho watches as Chan excuses himself and makes his way through clusters of the audience to get to the front.

Hyunjin catches him peering through the curtain and follows his lead, chuckling softly. “See, hyung. You have nothing to worry about.”

As Minho tries to clear his head and tamp down any lingering stage fright, Hyunjin slings an arm over his shoulders and echoes what he said earlier. “Hyung, you've got this."

He’s hit with a wave of gratitude for the boy, because he could not have done this without him. Hyunjin was so ready to take on the concept and had done so much to help him choreograph the piece, just as committed as he was in making his vision come to life. “Thanks again for doing this with me, Hyunjin.”

He smiles as they get ready to step on to the stage. “I’m right with you.”

When they start to dance, Minho loses himself on the stage, tracking Hyunjin’s movements around him and following with his own, feeling the beat of the music deep within him. He pours every single drop of emotion he’s felt within the year into this performance, and it doesn’t leave him empty. It frees him.

When they finish their performance, they take a bow, then another, as they continue to take in the generous applause. Minho braves a glance at the front row, and is rewarded when he sees Jisung and Changbin clapping and whooping for them, and Chan right beside them, beaming straight at him.

He meets Chan’s eyes briefly, and when they hold their stares for a moment too long, Minho thinks he still has so much left in him, still so much left to say.

“Congratulations, Minho. You were terrific, as you always are,” Chan says, pulling him into a hug, a reflection of the first time he came to one of his shows.

And again Minho wonders, even more so than before, if it means anything.

They had already planned an afterparty of sorts at Hyunjin’s place, a combined celebration of their showcase as well as the end to the school year. The group walks the few blocks to Hyunjin’s apartment, twos and threes of them huddled as they carry out different conversations. 

Minho and Chan lag behind the rest of the group, walking in companionable silence.

He feels their arms bump together from time to time as they walk, and all Minho really wants to do is to pick up from where they left off – take Chan’s bigger hand in his and lace them together.

But Chan’s silence stops him from doing that, and he keeps his eyes trained on the asphalt road ahead of them.

Hyunjin takes out the last of his alcohol for everyone to consume, and having the eight of them over and free of any schoolwork means that all of it is gone in just an hour, and it’s perfectly fine for them. They all watch television together, pleasantly buzzed, providing commentary and pulling out an occasional anecdote incriminating one member of their group or another.

Minho enjoys himself, listening to them and laughing with them. After an hour, though, he starts to feel the exhaustion catch up to him. He feels his muscles straining to keep him upright, his eyes struggling to stay open. When he yawns, Chan takes notice. 

“Do you wanna go home? I’ll go with you,” he says in a volume low enough that no one else would have heard him.

He wants to say he’s fine with staying, but he’s sure his droopy eyelids alone are already giving him away. “You can stay, Chan-hyung,” he says instead. “I’ll be fine walking alone.” It was only a 15-minute walk, surely he could do it.

But Chan doesn’t buy it. He gets up from where he was seated beside Minho on the carpeted floor, walking towards Hyunjin and whispering something in his ear. When he comes back, he helps Minho get up and gather his belongings, and Minho doesn’t have it in him now to protest. He joins Chan as they bid an early goodbye to their friends, promising to catch up with them soon.

Once again, they walk in silence, and Minho gets even more exhausted with every step.

Chan must notice his slower pace and his involuntary swaying, because he reaches a hand out to steady him. “Almost there,” he says reassuringly, keeping his hand on Minho’s elbow.

When they get to their apartment, Chan gestures for him to go inside first. Minho takes his shoes off and makes for the sofa, sinking down and feeling his muscles relax against the burlap padding. From the corner of his eye, he sees his cats asleep on their tree.

He is just about ready to pass out when he feels Chan sit next to him, and when he opens his eyes, he sees Chan reach out and place a throw pillow snugly between Minho’s neck and the back of the sofa.

“Thanks, hyung,” he says, looking at Chan. Neither of them have turned the lights on, and Minho thinks he looks so beautiful like this, covered in the faintest moonlight. When Chan looks back at him, eyes crinkling with something he hopes is akin to fondness, Minho’s exhaustion slowly fades.

“No problem. Hey,” Chan says. “Thanks for inviting me to your show. You really were spectacular. Both you and Hyunjin,” he says, and Minho sees a lump go down his throat.

“Did you like it?” Minho asks, shifting his torso to look at Chan more directly. Somehow, he feels all his fatigue drain out of him, replaced with determination and hope .

“I loved it. It took my breath away,” Chan says, and Minho doesn’t hide his smile, this time.

He thinks back to the day he made the choreography with Hyunjin, and the night that followed. It was a feat of design for him, because it was so rooted in his experience, so personal. It would have been terrifying to expose himself like that, if it didn’t feel so right.

Chan has to know.

“Why do you think I choreographed it like that, hyung?” Minho asks.

Chan looks up at Minho, a puzzled look on his face. “Why did you?”

“Chan-hyung,” he starts, gathering up all his courage before it runs out, willing himself to just say it, no matter what happens. He’s dealt with worse. “What you saw in the dance – the orbiting motions, slowly coming together. That’s how,” he gulps, pushing past his fear. “That’s how I feel about you. That’s how I see myself in this, whatever we have.”

“I wanted to show you, in the best way I know how,” he said, wringing his hands and looking at Chan, willing him to understand.

He doesn’t say anything at first, and Minho’s fear grips him again, all his courage used up.

But then Chan looks back, and his eyes are just as apprehensive. “Minho, I’m sorry,” and his heart drops, but Chan continues, “I just don’t want to assume-”

“Chris, I like you,” Minho finally says, unable to stop himself, telling him as simply and as clearly as he can to make sure he gets it. “I like you a lot, and I really hope you feel the same way.”

Again, Chan takes his time in answering. The only reaction he gives at first is a stunned expression, and Minho waits. He thinks he’ll always be willing to wait, as long as it’s Chan – sweet, unassuming Chan, who will lay out his entire heart but who can’t seem to sense it nor accept it when someone does the same for him.

Then at long last, Chan speaks, eyes turning up in lovely half-moons. “I like you too, Minho,” and his lungs give out in relief when he hears it. Chan takes his hand and Minho’s heart staccatos, gaze falling on the same dimpled smile he fell for months ago. Any remaining worry leaves his body and mind, because in this moment Chan likes him back, and it is all that matters.

They are in the same position they were in the night they almost kissed, and Minho is filled with the urge to fix that memory. He uses his other hand that’s not holding Chan’s to pull his face closer, to kiss him like he’s been wanting to for so long. Their lips finally slot together, breaths drawing, and it is the most chaste kiss Minho has ever had.

They kiss, again and again, maintaining their slow pace until they’re falling back on the sofa, breathless and happy to be in each other’s hold.

“Lee Minho, will you go out with me?” Chan says, and Minho pulls him back in with a fiercer kiss, an affirmative. That night, they fall asleep together for the first time, and Minho feels a change coming, one he’s willing to reshape his life for.

On the evening of the first day of his junior year, Minho is seated on a bench by the quad, watching the soccer players already training for the next season, hearing the shrill voices of freshmen catching up on what they did over the summer. He hears the wind whistle around him as he thinks of the year ahead.

He’ll still be living with Chan, who is properly his boyfriend now, much to Minho’s continuing disbelief and pleasure. He hadn’t foreseen a college life full of domestic bliss, but he couldn’t be happier, couldn’t have imagined a better alternative.

He is surprised by a sudden kiss on his cheek, a soft laugh following as he swats at the perpetrator, the man who still manages to surprise him after all this time.

“Hi,” Chan says, placing a firm kiss on his lips this time, and Minho’s face heats up. He’s still getting used to public displays of affection, but he finds it hard to care when his boyfriend is as gorgeous and happy as he is whenever they so much as hold hands and kiss like this. “Ready to go?”

Minho nods, taking his hand as the sun sets behind them. They walk out of campus to their home, coming together day in and day out, and Minho thinks this unplanned part of his life is the best so far.