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Truth be told, Yangyang doesn’t really understand it.
“Of course you don’t understand it,” Renjun scoffs. Yangyang would call him out for being condescending if he thought it was worth the effort. “Engineering students,” he says, derogatory. “It’s like as soon as you introduce anything non-numerical into the equation you lose all sense of logic. I don’t think you could write your way out of a paper bag if you tried.”
“I resent that,” Yangyang says, and takes a long sip of his iced americano. Renjun paid for their coffee today, which he only does when he wants a favor. He bought their sandwiches, too, so it must be an especially big favor. “Don’t forget I was a failed Business major before I switched to Engineering.”
“I’m not sure that’s something you should brag about,” Renjun says, eyeing him warily. “How can you drink iced coffee when it’s cold out? You’re so American.” His own hands are wrapped around a mug of green tea, and the steam curls up and lightly fogs his new glasses. It took Yangyang the better part of a semester to finally convince him to get them, because Renjun is nothing if not stubborn.
Yangyang kicks him underneath their table, then reaches out to steal a sip of Renjun’s drink. Renjun makes a face at him but doesn’t protest. Best friend privileges. It takes him a few seconds longer to process the last half of Renjun’s sentence. “Wait—you’re more American than I am. I wasn’t even born here!”
“Details,” Renjun says, stealing his tea back.
“Just explain the experiment to me again,” Yangyang sighs. “And this time, tell me where I come into all of it.”
The experiment is this: For his Psych honors thesis, Renjun will pretend to fall asleep on the shoulders of no less than twenty random strangers on the train. It’s supposed to prove something about the inherent goodness of humans and their willingness to help others even in the face of embarrassment or discomfort. Or something like that, at least. Yangyang isn’t sure. He zoned out halfway through Renjun’s long-winded tangent about moral psychology.
Renjun kicks him underneath the table, significantly harder than Yangyang had done to him just minutes ago. Yangyang keels over with a whine and nearly takes out his coffee along with him. “You’re terrible,” he huffs. “Truly terrible. Asking me to explain my thesis a second time and not even paying attention?”
“I was paying attention,” Yangyang wheezes. “Moral psychology. Humans good. Or bad. One of those things. I get it. Go on.”
“Right,” Renjun says incredulously. “So anyways. Where you come in is here—I need someone to film the experiment and record the strangers’ reactions. So I can watch the footage back and take notes.”
Yangyang still doesn’t entirely get it. “On like… a camera?”
“Just on your phone, nothing too conspicuous. If they know they’re being filmed, it defeats the whole purpose of my research.” Renjun drums his short little fingers against his laptop. “So? Will you help me?”
Of course he’s going to help him. Yangyang has never said no to Renjun in his life and he’s not going to start now. “I dunno,” Yangyang drawls, just to be irritating. “I’m a pretty busy man. Are you gonna pay me? I’m sure fair compensation for assistance is somewhere in the rules of, like, ethical experiment running. And all that.”
“It’s not,” Renjun says. Yangyang truly has no way of telling if he’s lying or not. “And you don’t need my money anyways. You’re a hypebeast who works at Chatime for fun to fund your increasingly expensive and useless sneaker collection, because it’s the one thing your father refuses to pay for.”
“Okay,” Yangyang says. “Too far. My collection is not useless, alright?”
“You don’t even wear any of them.”
“They’re not for wearing, they’re investments. They’ll accrue value over time. I could be worse. I could be investing in NFTs.”
Renjun rolls his eyes. “The bar is on the ground,” he says. “Just tell me if you’re going to help me. Also, if you say no, I’m gonna take my bribery coffee back.”
“I don’t really have a choice then, do I?” Renjun smiles brightly, and shakes his head. “Okay,” Yangyang says magnanimously. “I’ll help you. For the low, low price of—”
Renjun kicks his other leg, and Yangyang doesn’t even whine at him for it. That, too, is a best friend privilege.
🚃
The research trials, Renjun is calling them, will take place over the span of two days.
“I’m trying to eliminate the influence of external variables as much as possible,” he says to Yangyang, who’s still only half-listening. “But in terms of population demographics, I don’t have a lot of choice. I mean, our city is mostly college or grad students, so the population is going to skew younger. I can’t do anything about that.”
“Does their age matter?” Yangyang asks.
“Kind of,” Renjun says. “Maybe. Or, I mean—In psychology, we call it a confounding variable. Any variable that you’re not interested in studying, but if left uncontrolled, might affect the results of your experiment in unexpected ways. Does that make sense?”
Not really. “Yes,” Yangyang lies.
Renjun can probably tell he’s lying, but doesn’t push the subject.
Yangyang hasn’t ridden the train in a few years. His dad let him take the Tesla to college for a reason, after all (that reason being, of course, that Yangyang begged shamelessly until he gave in). The station seems surprisingly crowded, even for rush hour. More than once, Yangyang gets lost in the flow of shuffling bodies between departing and arriving trains.
“You’re hopeless,” Renjun says, fed up. Before Yangyang can get in a retort about how Renjun has an unfair advantage when it comes to navigating a crowd due to his compact size, Renjun reaches out and grabs his hand. “Always such a slow walker. Come on, we don’t have all day.”
Renjun’s hand is kind of sweaty. It’s not that pleasant. Yangyang holds it anyway.
The next southbound train pulls in and they arrange themselves on the seats strategically. Or, well, Renjun sits wherever he wants, and Yangyang simply sits across from him, two seats diagonal. For the optimal filming angle or something. He puts his AirPods in and only prays it’s discreet enough that no one takes notice of his phone, carefully angled towards Renjun.
Renjun’s first test subject is a girl probably not much older than the two of them. She flushes a little when Renjun leans onto her shoulder, giggles when she notices he’s asleep, and taps her friend on the shoulder to show him what’s happened. Other than that, she seems perfectly content to let him rest. She wakes him with a gentle nudge when they come to her stop and brushes off Renjun’s profuse apologies.
“I hope you slept well,” she says with another giggle, and leaves with a blush spread high on her cheeks.
The next few subjects pass in much the same way. Renjun will pretend to fall asleep, the person he’s fallen asleep on will act flustered for a bit before they reach acceptance, and they only wake him once their own commute comes to an end.
Renjun waves goodbye sleepily to an older man wearing a suit that costs more than a single semester of Yangyang’s tuition. As he leaves, Yangyang catches a lingering glimpse of him. Stupidly handsome, soft smile, the tips of his ears quickly turning bright red.
There’s a glaring problem with this experiment. Yangyang wonders if Renjun’s aware of it or not.
Test subject number five is notable immediately because, well—he’s cute. Cute is probably not the right word for it, because Yangyang can tell immediately even underneath his sweatshirt (emblazoned with what looks like a kitten with angel wings, which is pretty fucking sick in Yangyang’s opinion) that he’s built like a tank. But he seems to exist in contradictions. As tall as he is, he seems to be trying to take up as little space as physically possible. Body of The Rock, face and demeanor of a puppy. It’s a combination that sounds like it shouldn’t work, but does.
Renjun does his usual routine. He nods forward, once, twice, and catches himself each time. Then, he goes for the kill. His head falls to the crook of the puppy-faced stranger’s neck and stays there as he feigns sleep.
Puppy-face blinks, looking around, like he’s wondering if maybe this is an elaborate prank. Which, in a way, it is. He’ll never say that out loud though, because if Renjun ever heard Yangyang call his psych thesis experiment a prank, he’d probably get an earful for it.
Maybe he’ll be the first to push him off, Yangyang thinks. That’s what I’d do, probably. Not to Renjun, obviously. But to a stranger—
Puppy-face does not push him off. Puppy-face smiles brightly to himself (like, so bright, like one-hundred kilowatts bright, Yangyang wishes he had his Ray-Bans like right now), cheeks dusted pink, and leans his head on top of Renjun’s. Then he closes his eyes, and well—there he goes. He’s sleeping too.
It’s a sickeningly cute sight. It would probably be less cute if Puppy-face and Renjun didn’t both look like they could be idols in another lifetime, but well. They do. After five minutes pass with no sign of Puppy-face moving, Renjun cracks an eye open and Yangyang makes it a point to fake-retch in his direction just so he understands entirely how much this disgusts him. He gets a middle finger subtly hidden behind the bulk of Renjun’s oversized jacket in response.
It’s another five minutes before Puppy-face wakes. Yangyang isn’t quite sure if he intended on sleeping that long—or actually sleeping at all, really. The dark circles under his eyes tell Yangyang it might be the latter. There’s a look of dazed confusion on his face that gives way to realization, then embarrassment, then panic as he glances out the window, presumably to see if he’s missed his stop by accident.
When he seems assured that he has not, in fact, missed his stop, he spends another five minutes trying to decide how to wake Renjun up. Yangyang watches, pained, as the man reaches for Renjun’s shoulder, hesitates halfway through, then drops his hand to his own side. He does this no less than ten times. Rinse. Repeat.
Finally, Renjun takes mercy on him. An exaggerated yawn, a few slow blinks, and then he’s shifting into an upright sitting position. Puppy-face’s hand, hovering in the air on its eleventh attempt, stills.
“I’m sorry,” Renjun says, and he’s either truly embarrassed or just very good at acting like it. With his penchant for dramatics, it could be both. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep like that.”
“It’s okay! I didn’t mind!” Puppy-face replies, shaking his head violently. If Yangyang squints hard enough he can practically picture the dog ears flopping around on his head. Is he a furry? Is this a moment of self-discovery for him? “Sorry, I was trying to wake you up, but I didn’t know how. You just looked so…peaceful?”
Renjun blinks in genuine surprise this time. “Oh,” he says quietly. “Well. I…appreciate you letting me sleep. I know you didn’t have to do that. Thank you.”
“Really, it was nothing,” Puppy-face says, then scrambles to his feet. “This is my stop, but um. I hope you have a good day.” He leaves with a wave and another one of those one-hundred kilowatt smiles.
“He was kind of cute, wasn’t he,” Renjun says after a moment, voice quiet, staring out the window in the direction of the station they just left.
“Yeah,” Yangyang replies. He’s already thinking about how terrible this footage will be to watch back. “Too bad you’ll probably never see him again, right?”
Renjun hums noncommittally. “Yeah. Too bad.”
🚃
The sixth test subject is actually someone Yangyang knows. Or— does not know, exactly. But he recognizes him from that CSA party he went to with Dejun the other weekend. Chen-something? Whatever. It doesn’t really matter all that much.
Chen-something gives almost zero indication that he even notices when Renjun slumps over onto his shoulder, just keeps staring at his phone blankly. He’s got an incredibly impressive poker face. But Yangyang notices he makes a conscious effort to stay still from the way he stops shifting along with the movement of the train.
It almost feels like a cold war, with how perfectly still both of them are. As though they’re waiting for the other to give in first. In the end, Chen-something breaks seven minutes in.
Weak, Yangyang thinks. Puppy boy held out almost twice as long.
The way his hand shakes Renjun awake is gentle. The tone of his voice is anything but.
“Hey,” he says sharply. “Hey. You. Do you speak Chinese?”
Huh. Is this a pick up line? Something else entirely? Yangyang isn’t sure.
Renjun pretends to blink groggily, as though he’s still shedding the vestiges of sleep from his conscience. It’s very convincing. And a little bit adorable, Yangyang admits begrudgingly. Chen-something thinks so too, if the way his expression slackens is any indication. It only lasts a split second before it gets replaced with his previously impassive face. “What?” Renjun asks.
“I said, do you speak Chinese?”
“Yes, but—”
Immediately, Chen-something switches to Mandarin. “Are you some kind of idiot?” he asks loudly. “I figured I’d save you the embarrassment of chewing you out in a language everyone else could understand. But it’s not safe to fall asleep on the train. Let alone on random strangers. Have you lost your mind?”
The tips of Renjun’s ears go pink as he flushes with indignation. “I was tired,” he says. “I didn’t realize I fell asleep on you. I’m sorry.”
Chen-something looks like he’s mentally grappling with himself and losing. “It’s fine,” he says, finally, deflating visibly. “I didn’t actually care. I would’ve let you sleep longer, but I’m about to get off at the next stop. Just—let me call you an Uber, okay?”
“Oh no, I couldn’t—”
“Please,” Chen-something says, surprisingly insistent. “Just let me do this. I can’t leave you here in good faith if you’re tired enough to be passing out like that. Even I have a conscience sometimes. We can get off together, and I’ll call a car for you from there. Okay?”
Yangyang giggles to himself quietly. Haha. Get off.
Renjun’s eyes drift to Yangyang briefly. Yangyang only shrugs and continues to film. “Okay,” he says to him, probably not knowing how else to turn him down. At any rate, they’ve probably gotten enough data for the day, so what does it matter if Renjun runs off into the sunset with Mister I-Wear-A-Rolex-And-I’m-Going-To-Make-It-Everyone’s-Problem? “Thank you. I—really am sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Chen-something tells him, just as the train comes to a stop. His voice is still gruff, but Yangyang can see a blush beginning to form on his perfectly sculpted cheeks. Classic Renjun effect. “Come on. This is my stop.” He pulls Renjun along by the hand, and doesn’t let go.
Sorry, Renjun mouths to Yangyang, shooting him an apologetic look..
Call me when you’re home, Yangyang mouths back.
He gets off at the next station and takes the train home in the opposite direction. It’s a little bit lonely, he thinks, to take the train by yourself. No one tells you that. Surrounded by so many people, perfect strangers, and still feeling as though you’re isolated, in some sort of bubble.
This is why Yangyang drives the fucking Tesla.
🚃
“He was into you,” Yangyang says into the phone, later that night when Renjun calls.
“Hi to you too.”
“No. Seriously. He was definitely into you. Puppy-face, too.” They all kind of were.
Renjun’s laugh, even through the phone, is obnoxious. “Puppy-face,” he says, and Yangyang can practically see him throwing his head back as he giggles his way through the words. “You’ve been giving them nicknames in your head?”
“Yes,” Yangyang says, propping his feet up onto his coffee table. His mom would probably yell at him if she could see him now, but she’s not here. This is Yangyang’s kingdom. “I have to stay entertained somehow, don’t I? In case you’re wondering, test subject number six is Mister I-Wear-A-Rolex-And-I’m-Going-To-Make-It-Everyone’s-Problem.”
“You wear a Rolex, too.”
“Well, yeah. But that’s different. I’m different.”
Renjun laughs again, even more obnoxious this time around. “Riiiight,” he says, mockingly. “You’re different. You’re not like other girls.”
“Shut up,” Yangyang says, but there’s no bite to it. He’s perfectly aware of his main character syndrome. “You’re one to talk. If either one of us is not like other girls, it’s you. You’ve got, like, the Midas touch, except instead of turning things to gold, everyone who touches your head falls in love with you.”
Renjun actually does go quiet. Yangyang’s just starting to wonder if maybe he really offended him or he accidentally hung up when he speaks up again. “First of all, that’s a really weak metaphor,” Well, yeah, Yangyang’s an engineering major, not an english major. “Second of all, I’m not trying to find love. I just want to get an A in this class.”
“There’s no reason those two things have to be mutually exclusive,” Yangyang tells him, his voice tight.
“I guess so,” Renjun says, but he sounds unsure. “I would settle for the A for now, though.”
🚃
They start the next day bright and early.
“The only people who get up this early are self-hating sickos,” Yangyang complains, face deep in another Renjun-sponsored iced americano.
“What about people who take 8 AM classes?” Renjun asks.
“That’s what I said. Self-hating sickos.”
“...I take 8 AM classes every semester.”
“Exactly,” Yangyang says, and squeals as Renjun drags him into a headlock.
“We got cut short yesterday, so we have to start as early as we can today,” Renjun explains, once he’s relinquished Yangyang from his surprisingly firm hold. “I want to start combing through the footage as soon as possible.”
Yangyang watched some of the footage back already. Nothing remarkable, really. Just a whole lot of blushing. “Okay,” he says, rubbing at his throat with a pout. “I’m going to be really mad if you ditch me again, though.”
The first subject of the day—seventh overall—is a clean-cut boy wearing round glasses and a washed out, grey quarter zip. There’s a Save the Bees! pin on his messenger bag. He looks like the type of person who would try to hand out a quarter card to Yangyang on the quad, except maybe if the people quarter carding all looked like him, Yangyang would actually pay attention to them, instead of averting his eyes and pretending not to notice their outstretched hands.
What is with these commuters and their perfect bone structure, Yangyang grumbles to himself. Would it kill Renjun to fall asleep on someone ugly, for once? It probably doesn’t help that Bee Lover over here is—historically speaking—Renjun’s type. The Student Council President, Poster Boy for guys your mother would probably be thrilled if you brought home-type.
Which is probably why Renjun really plays it up when he pretends to fall asleep this time. Whatever he does is more of a cuddle than it is a lean, his body curling into Bee Lover’s side so casually Yangyang might think it was natural instinct and not deliberate.
And Bee Lover seems like a decent guy, so Yangyang is a bit surprised when he gently shrugs Renjun off his shoulder less than three minutes in to wake him up.
“Hi,” he says. “You fell asleep for a second there.”
Renjun’s blush this time is probably genuine. “Oh,” he says. “Sorry, I didn’t mean t—“
“What’s your stop?”
“Excuse me?”
“What station are you getting off at?”
“The University Campus station,” Renjun blinks. “Why?”
Bee Lover offers him a boyish grin. “I don’t mind if you sleep, but I’d hate for you to miss your stop.” He pats his shoulder as if offering it back up as a pillow. “I promise I’ll wake you when we’re there.”
“That’s…really nice of you,” Renjun says haltingly. “Thank you.”
Yeah. Really nice. Almost too nice, Yangyang thinks, but then Renjun is leaning back over (a little less shamelessly this time) and closing his eyes, and well. Yangyang begrudgingly admits that they look kind of cute together.
“We’re here,” Bee Lover says after a few more minutes, with a tentative touch to Renjun’s thigh. His voice is whisper-soft, and Renjun’s head falls forward just slightly before he finally stirs. “You good?”
Was he actually asleep? Silently, Yangyang makes a move to stand. There’s no way he’s getting ditched a second time. Absolutely no way.
“Yeah,” Renjun replies breathlessly. “I’m great.”
Bee Lover flashes another grin at him and helps him up. “Cool, cool, glad to hear it.”
“Oh,” Renjun says, watching Bee Lover begin to collect his items. “You’re getting off here, too?”
“Sort of,” Bee Lover scratches the back of his head a little awkwardly. “I was actually supposed to stop at the station before this one, but I’ll just walk back that way.”
Yangyang follows them, a safe distance away, as they get off the train. He loses the rest of their conversation after that, but when Renjun finds him on the platform a few seconds later his cheeks are pink.
I’ve seen enough blushing in the past 36 hours for an entire lifetime, Yangyang thinks. “Did you really fall asleep that second time?”
Renjun visibly stiffens. “His shoulder was comfortable,” he says, after a beat. “And it’s really early.”
Yangyang barks out a laugh. “That’s your fault.”
“Shut up,” Renjun scowls, but his blush doesn’t fade for the next twenty minutes.
🚃
The next subject is less of a subject and more of a victim. He’s cute, sweet-faced withan innocent air about him. Probably the type of person who still believes in Santa and cries during Disney movies. Freshman vibes, Yangyang decides, then notices the Neo Tech lanyard around his neck and the hope in his eyes. Yeah. Definitely a freshman. It always takes one semester for students to realize only freshmen wear their lanyards, and another semester for their hopes and dreams to be dashed.
His face goes alarmingly, shockingly bright red when he feels Renjun fall onto his shoulder. Yangyang briefly debates calling an ambulance for him. There’s no way that’s healthy.
“What do I do,” he whispers in a panic to the very pretty, very bored looking girl next to him. “Ningning, I think he’s asleep, what do I do?”
Ningning does not look up from her phone, where it looks like she’s playing some sort of mobile game. Yangyang respects the hustle. The only mobile game he ever got really into was Neko Atsume, and he even gave up on that one after a few weeks. “I don’t know,” she says unenthusiastically. “Is he cute?”
“Yes, I mean—well—yes, but—”
“Let him sleep. We’ll get off after a few stops anyway.”
The Freshman goes stock-still in his best impression of a mannequin and does just that, staring ahead, wide-eyed and unblinking. Out of boredom (and maybe a little bit of amusement) Yangyang makes a little game for himself counting how many times The Freshman manages to blink in the next ten minutes.
He loses track halfway through, butt it’s an alarmingly low number.
“Next stop is ours,” Ningning says, still tap-tap-tapping at her phone. Yangyang squints. PUBG, maybe? She’s losing, from the looks of it. Badly.
“How do I wake him up,” The Freshman says, still unmoving.
“Just pat him.”
Gently, The Freshman pets Renjun’s head. As if he were a dog. Yangyang has to disguise his laugh as a cough. Renjun’s mouth twitches. “His hair is really soft,” he whispers.
Finally, Ningning puts down her phone. “Not like that,” she hisses. “I meant like, on his shoulder!”
The Freshman, frowning, gingerly pats Renjun’s shoulder.
Yangyang applauds Renjun’s ability to keep a straight face as he says, “Oh, did I fall asleep? I’m sorry.”
“You did,” The Freshman says, stuttering over the words. “But It’s okay. Are you…alright…?”
“I just didn’t sleep well,” Renjun replies. His mouth curves into a smile. “Thank you for letting me sleep, though.”
“Any time,” he says, then blanches. “Or. Well. Not any time. But—”
Ningning is already halfway out the door. “Come on,” she says to him. “We have to go, or we’re gonna be late for class.”
The Freshman appears frozen in time. He’s staring at Renjun’s lips. This can’t be real.
“Your girlfriend is right.” Renjun tilts his head in her direction.
“Notmygirlfriend,” The Freshman says, snapping out of his daze. “I mean, uh. Right. Okay. Bye, now.” He stumbles over his own feet as he disembarks, and only narrowly makes it out before the doors shut on him.
Yangyang shakes his head. “You’re a menace,” he tells Renjun.
“I don’t understand what you mean,” Renjun replies.
Look in a mirror, Yangyang thinks, but just shakes his head again. He’ll figure it out at some point.
🚃
Yangyang is thankful that the next hour passes without incident. They stop to grab lunch at some shitty diner, where Yangyang orders a burger and a milkshake, and Renjun orders nothing, deigning instead to pick a fry off Yangyang’s plate every so often.
“Hey,” Yangyang says, slapping his hand away. “You could’ve ordered your own.”
“I only wanted a few,” Renjun replies, sulking.
“It’s not my fault you have a bird-sized stomach.”
“It’s not my fault you’re being stingy, even though we both know you’re going to use your dad’s black card to pay for this.”
Actually, this meal is going to be paid for courtesy of the Chatime shift Yangyang picked up from Giselle last week. But that’s neither here nor there. “How many more experiments do we have to do today?”
“Just two,” Renjun says, stealing another fry off his plate. “Should be quick.”
Only two left. There is a light at the end of the tunnel. Yangyang prays for them to be uneventful, though he has a terrible, dreadful feeling that they won’t.
🚃
Yangyang has come to notice that Renjun does this thing where he bides his time before he leans over. Probably to scope out his next target. Maybe to work up the courage to make contact, because god knows this is a pretty embarrassing experiment to run and Yangyang probably would have died of embarrassment halfway through if he were the one pretending to fall asleep.
Normally, it works fine. This time, not so much. The girl next to Renjun stands from her seat less than thirty seconds in, coincidentally just as Renjun’s head is falling, and—who the fuck rides the train for just one stop? Yangyang wonders. Yeah, he’s judging.
Before Yangyang can even say anything, though, or before Renjun can fall, the man one seat over is sliding into the seat next to Renjun, lightning-quick and smooth as anything. It’s almost like something out of a drama. Renjun’s eyes remain closed as his head meets the man’s shoulder. Yangyang isn’t sure if he noticed the girl actually left at all, except K-Drama Second Lead’s shoulder is a lot more built and a lot more high up than the girl’s was.
Maybe K-Drama Second Lead isn’t the best nickname for a guy with pink hair wearing a Patagonia fleece and holding two cups of coffee, but Yangyang’s done this nineteen times now and he’s quickly running out of fuel. K-Drama Second Lead’s got the looks to be in a drama, at least, even with the obnoxiously bright hair and reptilian smile.
Yangyang only notices that last thing because he keeps looking down at Renjun on his shoulder like he wants to unhinge his jaw and swallow him whole. Scary but kind of hot, in a way?Yangyang needs to reflect deeply on this later when he gets home.
Ten minutes pass. Then fifteen. Then twenty, and seriously, Yangyang’s phone is going to run out of space. How long is this guy going to let Renjun sleep for?
Blessedly, Renjun takes pity on him and his limited phone storage, and pretends to jolt awake as the train lurches along the track and jostles its passengers.
“Good morning,” K-Drama Second Lead says cheerfully. It’s a wonder neither of his drinks have spilled yet.
The confusion on Renjun’s face is genuine. “When did you—” he starts. “Um. When did I—”
“You fell asleep a while ago,” K-Drama Second Lead explains. “You looked like you needed it, so I just didn’t say anything.”
“Thanks,” Renjun says, staring at him, brows furrowed. “Do I…know you from somewhere? You look kind of fami—”
K-Drama Second Lead shoves one of his cups of coffee into Renjun’s hand to cut him off. “This is my stop,” he says. “But take this. You need it more than I do.”
He makes a sort-of kissy face at Renjun, and then he’s gone in the blink of an eye, like some sort of strangely handsome whirlwind. If not for the coffee in Renjun’s hands, Yangyang would have almost thought he imagined him entirely.
Renjun sniffs the drink hesitantly.
“Don’t drink that,” Yangyang warns him.
Renjun takes a sip anyway. “This is my coffee order,” he says, puzzled. “Exactly how I like it.”
“You shouldn’t accept drinks from a stranger,” Yangyang says staunchly. “Just because he was pretty doesn’t mean you should trust him so easily.”
“He really was pretty,” Renjun mumbles, probably purposefully ignoring the rest of what Yangyang said. “And seriously familiar…”
“Have you seen him around before?” Yangyang’s pretty sure he would’ve recognized that face if he did. Or at least the hair.
Renjun hesitates, then shakes his head. “I’m probably just imagining it.”
🚃
Subject number 20. Yangyang thought this moment might never come. The sun is well on its way into the sky now, nearly setting, and if they’re lucky, they’ll be able to get this done and make it home before rush hour really hits.
The (un)lucky man who sits next to Renjun is as handsome as most of the others have been. Well. Yangyang thinks he might be,,given that he’s wearing full Phantom of the Opera dress. Half-mask and cape and all. But the half of his face that Yangyang can see looks nice. There’s a charming scattering of moles across his cheek and his lips are full and plush, and surely the covered half of his face must be just as nice-looking underneath the mask. Is it Halloween in December, somehow?
The Phantom turns and locks eyes with Yangyang.
Fuck, Yangyang thinks, and wonders if his filming was too conspicuousor if he was staring too hard. He tries to angle his phone so that it looks less like he’s recording a random stranger and more just reading something off his own screen.
“I’m not always dressed like this,” The Phantom says to him.
“Okay,” Yangyang replies nervously. Does interacting with the subject before Renjun falls asleep on them mess up the experiment, somehow?
“I’m in a play,” The Phantom explains. “Phantom of the Opera. If you couldn’t tell.”
“I could tell,” Yangyang says.
The Phantom does not falter. “I’ll be in next week’s show. Central Theater, Tuesday at 8,” he says, with the sort of confidence that probably only comes from singing half-masked on stage in front of an audience. “You should come by.”
“Maybe I will,” Yangyang says. He won’t. But this seems like the fastest path out of this conversation. He momentarily sets his phone down to put in his AirPods instead, the universal signal for we’re done talking here.
Renjun shoots him a look from across the aisle that screams, really?
Yangyang grimaces right back at him. What other fucking choice did I have.
Frankly, Renjun seems a little tired of the whole ordeal, or maybe he’s trying to get this over and done with as quickly as possible. He cuts the whole nodding off routine in favor of outright slumping onto The Phantom’s shoulder. To his credit, The Phantom doesn’t startle at all. The one eye that Yangyang can see blinks a few times as he looks down at Renjun, and then he simply slides down in his seat a bit so that Renjun’s head rests comfortably in the crook of his neck instead of just at his shoulder.
The sudden movement makes Renjun flinch, and The Phantom must notice, because he says, “You can keep sleeping if you want. I just figured this would be more comfortable for you.” He grins down at Renjun. “Pretty boys need their beauty sleep, don’t they?”
He really is absurdly confident to be flirting with a stranger on public transit while dressed like that. Maybe Yangyang should start acting in plays, too.
Renjun blushes all the way down to his neck. “Sorry. I appreciate it.”
“Don’t be sorry,” The Phantom laughs. “It’s not every day I get a cute boy falling asleep on my shoulder. If anything, this is probably the most pleasant commute I’ve had in years.”
Yangyang knows from experience that Renjun doesn’t do well in dealing with straightforward flirting. Which is probably why he decides to feign sleep again, his eyes falling shut as The Phantom smiles to himself, seeming pleased.
He leaves just ten minutes later, winking at Renjun salaciously as he does. “In case you didn’t hear me saying it to your friend over there before—” Yangyang scrambles to hide his phone. “—Central Theater next Tuesday,” he says. “Don’t be late. And bring flowers, too.”
Renjun stares after him through the window, his gaze half-confused and half-longing.
“Well,” Yangyang says sardonically to him, once the train starts moving again. “Uneventful ending to the last 48 hours, right?”
Renjun throws his head back and laughs. “Yeah,” he says. “Very uneventful.”
🚃
Renjun buys him dinner as compensation for his time. Normally, Yangyang would be a brat about it and insist on homemade food in return for a favor, but Renjun is as disastrous of a cook as he is. So they settle for takeout, which they eat on Yangyang’s couch while Renjun goes back and rewatches the footage. Over and over and over again, poring over six clips in particular. Not that Yangyang notices.
“The results don’t make sense.” Renjun is muttering, his face plastered to the screen of his laptop like that’ll somehow make them make sense. “I mean. Surely out of twenty people, there had to have been one person who would push me off, right?”
“Isn’t that good though,” Yangyang yawns. It’s been a long day. “Isn’t your point to prove that people are nice, or whatever?”
Renjun sighs. “In the most basic of terms, yes. Still though. Something about it doesn’t seem quite right. Statistical significance, and all that.”
Statistics was never Yangyang’s strong suit. Renjun had to teach him how to find a percentage like, ten times freshman year. But even he can see the problem here, when Renjun seems blind to it. “There’s one crucial detail you’ve forgotten to take into account in the parameters of your so-called social experiment,” Yangyang tells him.
Renjun, frowning over a spreadsheet, doesn’t even bother glancing at him. “And what might that be?”
“You’re hot,” Yangyang says bluntly.
Renjun’s frown is directed at him now. “You think I’m hot?” he asks.
“Well, not really,” Yangyang blusters, because it’s always easier to hide behind layers of denial. Renjun’s frown deepens. “Okay, yeah, of course you are, but just hear me out. Remember that whole confounding variables thing you were telling me about?”
“I’m not—” Renjun pauses, his frown deepening. “That’s not—”
“The Phantom guy literally called you pretty.”
“He was just—”
“Your general attractiveness has definitely been affecting the outcome of your research all along,” Yangyang continues, because it’s true. “Like, you basically forced me to watch twenty random strangers fall madly in love with you at first sight over the course of the past two days. Rewatch the footage another five times if you don’t believe me.”
Renjun considers this for a moment, staring off into space as he bites at his lower lip. Yangyang recognizes it as a nervous habit. “Let’s assume you’re right.”
“I am right.”
“Assuming you’re right…what am I supposed to do, then?”
“Find an academic way to say I’m super hot so the results of this experiment may not be able to be reproduced,” Yangyang offers unhelpfully. “Or get uglier, and do it again.”
🚉
Renjun should be happy.
He turned in his paper and defended his thesis, presentation and all. He passed. Professor Kim loved his research. He’ll graduate with honors. He should be happy, but—
“Woah,” Yangyang says from above him. “Who pissed in your Cheerios?”
“I hate cereal,” Renjun says. “But if I didn’t, then I’d guess you, probably. Also, pass the popcorn.”
Yangyang hands him the bowl and nudges at him with his leg. “Scooch over first,” he says, and flops onto the couch next to him unceremoniously. “But seriously, you’re making that same face my freshman year roommate did when I told him they were taking The Office off Netflix.”
“That’s not even a good show.”
“It’s not. But I hear it holds a lot of cultural significance for white people.”
“Maybe,” Renjun snorts. “Can we just start the movie already?”
Yangyang nudges at him again. “Not until you tell me what’s wrong. Bad vibes will not be tolerated at movie night.”
“I don’t even know what’s wrong,” Renjun confesses. “Everything is objectively fine, and yet—“
“You feel like something is missing?” Yangyang finishes for him. Renjun usually hates it when he does that. Today, he decides to let it slide.
Renjun slumps over in defeat. “Yeah,” he replies. Yangyang’s shoulder is bony, but he doesn’t bother moving so he makes an okay-enough pillow. “I guess so.”
“I knew it,” Yangyang says, sounding too smug over his best friend’s misery. “You’ve been acting funny ever since we did that experiment, you know. I bet you’re just hung up on one of those guys you met.”
In the four years Renjun has known Yangyang, he’s been known to say some ridiculous shit. This probably takes the cake, though. “What? Why would I be hung up on a stranger?”
“What, like it hasn’t happened before? You momentarily develop romantic feelings for someone whenever they do so much as open a door for you.”
“That’s not true.”
“Is too.”
“Is not!”
Yangyang shrugs. “If you want to live in denial, be my guest. But speaking from a strictly-objective third person point of view, you’re clearly hung up on something. All signs point to one of them.”
“I don’t even know any of their names,” Renjun protests weakly. Something in his gut is starting to churn.
"What does that matter when it comes to love at first sight?”
Love at first sight. It’s a cliché. More than that, it’s superficial. Renjun never stopped to consider if he was the type who was susceptible to it. “I mean…has that ever happened to you? Falling in love with someone without knowing anything about them, I mean.”
Yangyang gives him a strange look before he directs his attention to the television screen. “Maybe,” he says vaguely. “Maybe not.”
🚉
It’s not until after Renjun is back in his own apartment, staring up at his ceiling, that he starts to really think about it. The whole love at first sight thing. Sure, he’d dated around in high school a little, but that hardly counted as relationship experience. When it comes to love, Renjun is a downright novice. He rarely ever tries new things unless he’s all but guaranteed to succeed.
Yangyang wouldtell him to be more spontaneous. Then again, Yangyang was the one who said maybe, maybe not, in response to Renjun’s question. He always chooses to be frustratingly ambiguous in the most inconvenient situations.
But this isn’t about Yangyang. Not really, at least. Renjun has always had a tendency for self-reflection and introspection that feels almost debilitating at times. Ignorance is bliss, they say. If that’s true, Renjun hasn’t felt anything close to bliss in a very long time. He knows what his heart wants. He’s probably known it for a while, and only refused to process it until it could no longer be held underneath the crashing tide of his subconscious any longer.
So—sure, Renjun knows what he wants. Whether he can do anything about it is a separate matter altogether.
🚉
Renjun’s dream is a blur. He’s in an empty train car, as far as he can tell. When he stares out of the windows, he finds nothing but blotted out, depthless dark. The seats around him are full, but not with people.
Everything feels foggy. Renjun squints. If this is a dream, he shouldn’t need his glasses—yet he can barely make out the outline of each item.
Choose one, a disembodied voice says.
He reaches out and his fingers close around…
…A dog plushie.
🚉
“—jun. Renjun. Wake up already.”
Renjun jolts awake, and takes a second to remember where he is. His surroundings come into perception slowly. Bookcase. Laptop. Jaehyun. Right. Office hours.
“I know biopsychology isn’t exactly the most exciting thing in the world,” Jaehyun says. “But if you’re gonna sleep during TA office hours, at least do it on the couch, and not on top of the tests I need to help grade. Or better yet, go home and get some rest.”
“Sorry,” Renjun winces. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep like that.” Familiar words. But the last time he’d said them, they were a lie.
“Everything alright?”
“Yeah, I just didn’t sleep well last night.” Courtesy of that weird fucking dream, of course. Renjun is still not quite sure what it meant. “Where were we?”
Jaehyun offers him a dimpled smile and reaches out to ruffle his hair, because he knows Renjun hates being treated like a kid. “Let’s just finish here for the day. We can’t have you falling asleep again and getting drool over all those exams, can we?”
“I don’t drool in my sleep.” Renjun glares.The effect is probably dampened by the way he’s trying to smooth down his hair. “You said you’d let me borrow the book for tomorrow’s reading though, right?”
Jaehyun goes stiff. “Ah. Right. I did say that, didn’t I?”
“You forgot? Really?”
“I didn’t forget. It’s just…in my boyfriend’s bag.” Renjun gives him an unimpressed look. “...Because I forgot it there.”
“Wow,” Renjun says flatly.
“It’s fine,” Jaehyun waves him off. “He’s at soccer practice right now. We’ll just swing by and I can grab it for you. Is that alright?”
“Fine, I guess.”
Renjun is lucky that he’s known Jaehyun since he was a freshman and can get away with being a bit brattier than he normally would be with a TA. Jaehyun only laughs at his obvious displeasure and ruffles his hair. Again. “So magnanimous,” he says, sliding his laptop into his backpack. “Alright, let’s get going then.”
The soccer field is only seven minutes from the psych building. Five, if you really book it, but Renjun’s not in any particular hurry. “I keep forgetting you’re dating a jock,” he complains, nudging Jaehyun’s shoulder as they walk.
“Yuta hardly counts as a jock,” Jaehyun replies, amused. “He gets better grades than I do, actually. And speaking of grades, I heard Professor Kim was very impressed with your honors thesis.”
“Lame segue,” Renjun says. “But she seemed to like it, yeah.”
They chatter on about their respective research topics as they approach the field, and Renjun tries not to grimace at the raucous sound of men yelling and whistles blowing. The turf is coarse beneath his feet. He’s not particularly a fan of sports, and he can count on one hand the number of times he’s been to a college game, whether it was soccer or football or basketball or hockey or otherwise.
Jaehyun glances down at him. “You look like I’m dragging you to your death.”
“Just hurry up and get the book,” Renjun says.
It happens in slow motion. One second, Renjun is standing on the sidelines with Jaehyun as he rummages through what is presumably his boyfriend’s bag. The next, someone is yelling, watch out, and a soccer ball is flying towards him.
Renjun’s hands fly up on pure instinct and manage to block the ball before it makes impact with his face, but the force behind it still manages to knock him flat on his ass. “What the fuck,” he says.
“If the whole psych major thing doesn’t work out,” Jaehyun says, watching the ball roll off to the side. “You could have a bright future as a goalie.”
“Oh my god,” someone says, jogging towards them. “Oh my god, are you alright, I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”
“Obviously I’m not alright, you—” Renjun looks up and immediately, surprise eclipses whatever anger was crawling up his stomach. “It’s you,” he blurts out.
“Puppy-face,” he says, at the same time that Puppy-face says, “Train boy.”
Jaehyun looks between the two of them, confused. “Jeno,” he says. “You know Renjun?”
“Puppy-face?” Jeno asks Renjun, mouth agape. He looks even cuter in his soccer uniform than he did in the stupid angel cat sweatshirt. Renjun hates it. “And—yeah, I sort of know him, I guess. He fell asleep on me on the train the other day.”
“You fell asleep on me, too!” Renjun says. He’s not sure why he’s being so defensive.
Jeno’s nose wrinkles. “I didn’t mean to, I was just like, super stressed, and when I’m stressed I don’t get a lot of sleep, and I guess I just saw you and I was like, oh, cute boy asleep on my shoulder, I guess a nap sounds pretty good right now?”
Cute boy, Renjun thinks in disbelief. Was Yangyang right, after all? “You think I’m cute?”
"Was this for your experiment?” Jaehyun asks Renjun.
“Experiment?” Jeno echoes.
This is too much. Renjun snatches the book out of Jaehyun’s hands and nods in the direction of the bleachers. “Please leave,” he says, and Jaehyun does so willingly.
“Okay,” he says, with an infuriatingly calm smile. “But I want to hear about this later.”
When Renjun turns back, Jeno is staring at him very intently. “Let me take you on a date,” he says.
Renjun blinks. “What.”
“I want to take you on a date,” Jeno repeats. “You know. As an apology for almost giving you a concussion. And for falling asleep on you, too. Maybe you can even explain what Jaehyun meant when he said this was for an experiment.”
That one might be hard to explain. “No,” Renjun says.
“No?” All at once, Jeno deflates.
“I mean, no, I’m not going to go on a date with you if you’re only taking me out as an apology,” Renjun clarifies.
Jeno seems to perk back up at that. “Okay. Let me try again,” he says. “I want to take you on a date because I think you’re cute. And also because that five-minute nap I took on your shoulder was the best sleep I’ve gotten in weeks.”
Renjun’s cheeks grow warm and his chest pulls tight. Is it normal to be this fond of someone you’ve technically just met? Probably not. But Renjun’s never been normal, anyway. “You should know that I don’t sleep with people on the first date. No matter how cute they are.”
“But sleeping on them the first time you meet them is fine?”
“Yes. For science.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Jeno says, grinning so brightly his eyes curve into half-crescents. “I’ll just be sure to get a second date, then.”
…A watch.
🚉
Honestly, going to a frat party is the last thing Renjun wants to do after the night he just had. After the weird fucking dream he just had. Maybe in another universe, where he had considerate friends, this would be enough reason for them to let him skip out, but—
“Don’t care, didn’t ask,” Yangyang says, rifling through his closet. “We’re going. And you should wear something slutty.”
“I don’t wa—”
“Okay, fine, no slut outfit. But at least wear jeans that fit for once. Or I’m going to be embarrassed to be seen with you.”
He leaves no room for argument. Reluctantly, Renjun drags his most slim-cut jeans out of the laundry hamper. “If you’re embarrassed to be seen with me, I don’t have to go at all, you know,” he says, though he knows protest is futile.
“It’ll be fun,” Yangyang insists, pointedly ignoring him. "Trust me.”
Renjun trusts Yangyang, so he puts on the jeans. He realizes half an hour later that this was a mistake.
It’s just like Yangyang to drag him to a party and immediately get swept away by the crowd. As he crosses the threshold into the kitchen, someone pushes a disposable shot glass into his hand. Renjun shrugs and downs it. And where was he again? Right. Yangyang. Renjun isn’t worried. He can fend for himself, and Yangyang always finds his way back to him eventually.
“Hi,” Yangyang says, appearing out of the crowd significantly more flushed than when he left. Speak of the devil. “You look sober.”
“I had a shot,” Renjun replies, and shows him the cup as evidence.
Yangyang chucks it in the already-overflowing garbage can with surprisingly impressive aim. “That’s nothing. But we’ll fix that, don’t worry.”
Between one end of the kitchen and the other, Renjun obtains and immediately rids himself of one very watered down mixed drink and two more shots. Yangyang stops to talk to a classmate, and so Renjun rids himself of Yangyang, too. He’s feeling a little unsteady on his feet, a little flushed and warm. A little hungry, even. Unfortunately, there’s some guy, spectacularly dead center of the party-obligatory bowl of Doritos and the 24-pack of White Claws. He doesn’t move despite Renjun’s prolonged awkwardly-polite hovering.
“Excuse me,” Renjun says, trying to be polite, because he would kind of like to get back to the dance floor. It’s pretty generous to call a furniture-less living room a dance floor, but Renjun has always been a generous person. “Could you move a little bit?”
“Why don’t you j—” the guy turns around, an insult on the tip of his tongue before he cuts off, and Renjun’s mouth goes dry.
“Hi,” Renjun says. Where has he seen those cheekbones before?
“Hi,” the stranger says, staring at Renjun’s thighs. Maybe trusting Yangyang was a good thing, after all.
Renjun doesn’t remember where he’s seen the cheekbones until he’s three minutes into being pushed up against the wall by said cheekboned stranger. “You’re—You’re from the train,” he gasps. He would’ve said it with more finesse if there weren’t a hand pawing at the hem of his shirt.
“What,” the stranger (Chenle, his name was Chenle, Renjun figured that out three minutes into having him pushed up against the wall) says. “You didn’t recognize me?”
“I saw a lot of people that day,” Renjun tries to say. Chenle’s lips are at his jaw now. “And I’m tipsy.”
Chenle draws back, and Renjun whines low in his throat. “What do you mean a lot of people,” he asks.
So Renjun explains. Explains the experiment, explains pretending to be asleep, explains that it actually had been pretty awkward—nice, but awkward—of him to insist on calling Renjun an Uber home. “I was trying to get through at least ten test cases that day,” he says, to an unimpressed Chenle. “You cut me off at number six.”
“Oh wow,” Chenle says. “That means you’re an even bigger idiot than I thought you were.”
“What?” Renjun asks, affronted. Did he hear that right?
“At first I thought you were just naïve. But if you were doing it on purpose, there are some real freaks out there,” Chenle nags. “Would you just trust any one of them if they asked you to follow them off a train? What if I was one of them? What if—”
Renjun frowns. “You are a freak,” he says, because it’s true. “Who just insists on calling an Uber for a random person they’ve never met because they fall asleep for a couple of minutes—”
“I was being a good person, and it was like fifteen minutes—”
“No, it was seven. I would know.” It’s easy to lapse back into Mandarin with him, which is maybe worse. Renjun’s mouth is a little filthier in his native language. “I’m the one who watched the footage.”
“There’s footage!” Chenle shrieks. They probably make a ridiculous image. Bickering in the middle of a hallway, still pressed close enough together to be sharing each other’s air. Chenle’s hand is still at the hem of Renjun’s shirt, resting at his hip. “You have footage of me? Delete it.”
“I can’t,” Renjun says. “Anyways, I already used it in my research paper.”
And here’s the thing about Chenle. Renjun can’t decide if he’s mean, or if he’s nice, or maybe equal parts both. He says one thing and does another, then says another thing and means something else entirely. Renjun doesn’t know if he’s going to get a barbed insult or disarming sweetness until he opens his mouth. Sometimes both, because the way he says idiot is starting to sound a lot like a term of endearment, and that feels dangerous. “It was for your research paper?” he asks, and Renjun prepares to be nagged at again. “I suppose that’s fine, then. As long as you pay me royalties.”
“It’s a paper. I don’t make money off it.”
“Oh. Well you should still pay me back, anyways. Your grade profited off my likeness.”
“I don’t have enough money to pay off a guy who wears a Rolex,” Renjun says.
Chenle looks a little pleased that Renjun’s noticed his name brand watch. “Sure you do,” he says, winding arms around Renjun’s waist. “You can pay in installments. One date at a time.”
Renjun looks up at him incredulously. “Okay. One-half of our dates at a time.”
“We’ll figure out the details later,” Chenle says.
Later is one hour later, once they’ve ditched the party in favor of grabbing a late-night dinner instead. Chenle looks at Renjun expectantly when the total comes up but sighs when Renjun bats eyelashes at him and hands his black card to the cashier without any fuss. “Okay,” he says. “But you’re paying for the next one. Idiot.”
“Sure,” Renjun replies, with every intention of accidentally forgetting his wallet at home. “The next one.”
…A jar of honey.
🚉
Fuck. Renjun is so late. Renjun is so fucking late, and it’s all the stupid dream’s fault. Jar of honey. What does that even mean? He took a class on the psychology of dreams freshman year, sure, but nothing like this ever came up.
What would Freud have to say about his dream? Something stupid, probably. Maybe Yangyang was right about the whole only self-hating sickos take 8 AM classes thing, not that Renjun would ever admit it to him.
Part of him would like to go back home and crawl under the covers to sleep another 4 or 5 hours, but life is unkind, and Renjun really can’t afford to miss another class. And although he’s too proud to run, no matter how late he is, he’s not too proud to speedwalk. He pushes past a freshman loitering in the middle of the sidewalk and gets a dirty glare for it in response.He would apologize if it weren’t their fault to begin with for loitering in the middle of the sidewalk, and if he was physically capable of getting enough air into his lungs right now to speak words. His next inhale comes out more like a wheeze. God, he’s out of shape. Maybe he needs to start going to the gym with Dejun.
His phone vibrates. Renjun glances down just for a second to check the notification. Are u coming to class? Sungchan is asking, and just as Renjun is about to reply yes i’m omw save me a seat and put my name on the sign in sheet, he hears a yelp.
“Noo,” a voice whines. “My pins!”
Renjun looks up. A boy is kneeling over a spilled box of pins, frantically trying to gather them all up again. There are no people around them. Did he trip and fall over his own feet? Is anyone seriously that clumsy?
Renjun is late but he’s also not heartless. One of the pins rolls over by his feet. He leans down to pick it up. Huh. Save the bees. “Hi,” he says, tapping the boy on the back. “Do you need some help there?”
The boy whirls around. “Yeah,” he says, frazzled. “Yeah, if you could, that would be awe—” He stares. Renjun stares back. “Pretty boy from the train,” he says, eyes wide.
Of all the test subjects Renjun was hoping to run into, Bee Lover was probably at the bottom of the list. Not because he didn’t want to see him, but because he’d been so cute. Exactly Renjun’s type. And Renjun had embarrassed himself so, so much.
(“Jun,” Yangyang called out sweetly. That was a bad omen if Renjun had ever heard one. He only ever used Renjun’s nickname when he was either about to majorly humiliate him, or when he was about to announce that he’d accidentally broken something very fragile and very expensive that belonged to him. “Have you made it through all the Day 2 footage yet?”
“Not yet,” Renjun said, eyes glued to his laptop. “Still looking at Day 1 stuff. What, are you going to tell me you accidentally deleted it all, or something?”
Yangyang cackled, sliding his laptop across the desk in Renjun’s direction. “No. But I’ll bet you’re going to wish I did when you watch this.”
On screen, Renjun watched in horror as he leaned on—no—curled up on the stranger. He was basically cuddling. What the fuck? “Why did you let me do that,” he whispered.
“Oh. You mean you didn’t realize—”
Well. Yeah, Renjun thought Bee Lover was attractive. And maybe he got a little closer than he necessarily had to because of it. But he thought he was being more subtle than this. He thought it was less— “Embarrassing,” he whispers, slamming the laptop lid shut. “That’s so embarrassing. This is all your fault.”
Yelping, Yangyang reached out to inspect his laptop for damage. “How is it my fault?”
“You could’ve stopped me!”
“You told me I couldn’t interfere with the experiment!”
The bickering devolved after that. In the end, Renjun could only manage to watch the trial with Bee Lover once before he forced Yangyang to throw it out. Nineteen subjects was still enough to draw a conclusion.)
“You remember me?” he asks weakly, feeling breathless for a whole different reason now.
“Yeah of course, how could I not?” Bee Lover says, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. He straightens to his full height, and Renjun’s eyes are drawn upwards. “Sorry, I should’ve asked—what’s your name?”
“Renjun,” he says, stretching his arm out for a handshake.
“Mark,” Bee Lover replies, and shakes his hand. And does not let go.
After a few seconds, Renjun can feel his face starting to redden. “Um. I think you can let go now,” he says, and immediately wants to slap himself. Idiot. Why would you say that? That’s the last thing you wanted him to do.
Mark drops his hand as if burned, the tips of his ears flushing pink. It’s ridiculously cute. “Oh man, sorry, I didn’t mean to, I just—wow, I didn’t expect to see you again, you know?”
Renjun drops the pin he’d picked up into the box. “Yeah, I didn’t either.”
“It’s not every day a cute boy falls asleep on my shoulder,” Mark says. The words must leave his mouth more quickly than he can process them, because it takes a half-second for him to balk at himself. “Err—I mean a boy—not that you’re not cute—”
“I’m really sorry,” Renjun blurts out, suddenly overcome with something like guilt. Mark is so earnest. Renjun is so…everything but that. “It was for an experiment. I’m doing my honors thesis in moral psychology.”
Realization settles into Mark’s expression. “Ohhhhh,” he says. Renjun’s not sure if that’s a good oh, or a bad oh, or maybe a neutral one? “So were you like, not actually asleep?”
“I was the second time,” Renjun admits, embarrassed. “Your shoulder is…really comfortable.”
Mark looks impressed with himself. “Oh, no way?” he says. “That’s dope.”
“Uh. Yeah. Dope.” Renjun agrees. They continue to stare at each other. Mark with his half-empty box of pins, and Renjun with his crushing realization that he is, unfortunately, super fucking late to class now. “Well, I sh—”
“Are you busy right now?” Mark asks. “It’s okay if you are! I just—I was gonna grab some breakfast at the café on the corner, if you want to come with. After I drop these off at the Environmental Collective clubroom, I mean.”
Renjun tilts his head to the side. “Is that an invitation? Like a date?”
“If you’re free,” Mark says, looking at him with hopeful eyes. “If you want it to be.”
The buzz of another notification. Seriously are u coming or not, Sungchan’s text reads. Renjun slips his phone into his pocket and says a small prayer for the mercy of Professor Adler. "Yeah,” he says, and the way Mark’s smile overtakes his entire face makes Renjun’s slipping attendance grade worth it. “I’d like that.”
…A lanyard.
🚉
“Tell me why I signed up to do this again,” Renjun says, furiously rubbing his eyes. He should’ve called off to go home and nap.
“Because you want to stay on Professor Kim’s good side,” Yeri replies easily, not even giving him a second glance. She’s always so put together. Renjun admires that about her. “And staying on her good side means agreeing to tutor the poor idiots who made the mistake of taking her Intro to Psychology course.”
Renjun groans and sinks into his seat. He’s never in the mood to deal with idiots, least of all today. “Kill me,” he whispers. They’re in the library. He still has to be respectful about soliciting his own murder.
Yeri shuts her book with a sigh. “Are you alright?” she asks, turning to him. “You said that with like, ten percent more seriousness than you normally do.”
For a split second, Renjun considers telling her about the dream. About the lanyard. And promptly decides against it. “I’m fine. There’s just a reason I usually sign up to take the evening shifts instead of the morning ones,” Renjun says, waving her off. How would he explain any of it to her without sounding completely insane?
“Not a morning person,” Yeri nods sympathetically. “Why’d you agree to switch with Shotaro, then?”
“He has his dance showcase today,” Renjun yawns. “And I’m not heartless.”
Yeri pats him on the shoulder. “That’s so nice of you. D’you know what would be even nicer?”
“What do you want,” Renjun asks flatly. Being friends with Yeri for the better part of the year has given him a sixth sense as to when she’s about to ask a favor of him.
“I need to borrow a physical copy of the textbook. They’re on the top shelf in the Reference section.” She bats her eyelashes jokingly. “And you’re so much taller than I am.”
“By like, three whole inches,” Renjun complains, but stands anyway. “Need anything else while I’m gone?”
Her smile is self-satisfied. At least one of us is happy, Renjun thinks. “Just the book is fine. And hurry back, we’re supposed to start in 5 minutes.”
The reference section is—predictably—desolate. Not that the library shelves are a particularly popular gathering place for students to begin with. It’s nestled all the way in the back, past the study rooms, past the stacks, past the back volume sections. Most of the books found here could be more easily accessed by the internet. Renjun has all his textbooks downloaded as PDFs. Yeri is a bit more analog.
Renjun knew that the books would be on the top shelf because Yeri had told him so. He was prepared for that. What he wasn’t prepared for was exactly how high up the top shelf was. Of course, because how could this day get any worse?
Easily, apparently, because it’s only 10 AM and the world is not on Renjun’s side. A quick glance in either direction tells him that whatever step stool was supposed to be here was either taken away a long time ago and never replaced or was just never here to begin with. Probably the latter. No one fucking comes back here, after all, except Renjun, apparently. And Yeri, assuming that she’s occasionally unable to rope him or Shotaro into doing her grunt work.
Renjun would normally be too proud to tiptoe. But it’s not like anyone’s around to see him embarrass himself, so fuck it. He rocks back onto the balls of his feet for momentum then reaches up up up, and—just falls short. Fuck. His calves are straining and his fingers are too and he’s on the very tip of his toes, and still. So close, yet so far.
Is Yangyang right? Should he invest in insoles?
He’s mentally debating the pros and cons of just straight up climbing the shelves when he suddenly hears a voice. “Do you, um. Need some help with that?”
“I’m good,” Renjun lies, voice strained. When the fuck did someone else get here?
“Okay,” the stranger says. There’s an awkward pause. Renjun’s leg is starting to cramp. “…Are you sure though.”
“Yes,” Renjun says. His leg screams in protest. “Okay, no, I lied, please help.”
There’s a presence behind him and a hand at the small of his back before the stranger reaches up (easily) to grab two of the books. Renjun waits until he’s flat and sure-footed on the ground again to turn around, and— “You’re the freshman from the train,” he blurts out.
The Freshman blinks. “I’m not a freshman.”
Renjun notes with some amount of ire that he has to tilt his head all the way up to make eye contact with. “Okay, not-a-freshman. What are you doing here?”
“It’s the library…?” he says, brow furrowed. “ I…needed a physical copy of this textbook? For the tutoring session I’m about to go to?”
It takes Renjun longer than he’d like to admit to make the connection. “You’re the Jisung that Shotaro keeps talking about,” he says, awed. “The one who forgot to rename your paper before submitting it. What was it again?”
Jisung buries his face in his hands with a groan, but even that doesn’t do much to hide his rapidly reddening cheeks. "I named it I give up on this already please I just want to pass the class.” He peeks out from between his fingers. Cute. “Dot PDF. How do you kn—”
“Shotaro warned me when I took over his shift for today. I probably should’ve led with that. I’m Renjun.” Another awkward pause.
“It's, um. Nice to meet you. Officially." He finally puts his hands down. “Shotaro told you about me?”
Their psych seminar had talked about it for a week straight, if only because Professor Kim was such a notorious hardass that even the thought of her hounding some poor freshman (or sophomore, or whatever the hell Jisung is) for his poorly named paper was hilarious. Renjun has the vague feeling that if he told Jisung this, it would break him. “Um. Vaguely. Since I’m going to be your tutor just for today,” he says. Fuck. Topic change. “You’re not a psych student, are you?”
Renjun knows he’s not. He would’ve recognized him if he were.
“No, I’m in the performing arts program,” Jisung says. His eyes are drifting down, down—is he staring at Renjun’s mouth? Again? “Dance concentration.”
“Why is a performing arts major taking a psychology class?” Renjun asks. “Hey. My eyes are up here.”
Jisung at least has the decency to look embarrassed about being caught. “I needed the elective credit. I thought psychology would be easy.”
Sweet summer child. “Well, now that you know it’s not,” Renjun says. “Why don’t we get back to the desks, and we can go over some of what you find difficult?”
“Wait,” Jisung says. Renjun does, mostly because Jisung’s caught him around the wrist. Nice hands, Renjun thinks. Nice boy. Cute, too. “I know I’m your student, so this might be weird, but—uh. Do you want to go out sometime?” Renjun blinks at him. “Like, on a date.” Renjun blinks at him again. “With me.”
“Yeah,” Renjun says, an amused curl tugging at his lips. “I got that. And you’re not my student, you know. I have nothing to do with the class you’re taking. I don’t even grade anything of yours. Shotaro will be back to helping you next week.”
Jisung nods slowly. “Oh. Makes sense.” His gaze is slipping again, but this time he catches himself before Renjun can reprimand him for it. “Wait, so is that a yes or a no?”
Renjun laughs, and rocks up onto his tiptoes (his calves are protesting, but it’s fine, this is fine) to press a kiss to his cheek. “Get an A on your final first,” he says, and it’s hard not to be endeared by the way Jisung flusters. "And maybe I’ll say yes.”
…A cup of coffee.
🚉
Nothing worse than waking up from a full night of sleep and still feeling as though you’ve gotten no rest. There’s a certain type of exhaustion that only comes from nights like this, and Renjun thinks maybe it’s the worst type of all. A bone-deep weariness, tiredness to the point of near-collapse.
“You’re such a drama queen,” Yangyang scoffs. “We’re college students. We’re all constantly on the verge of collapsing from how exhausted we are. You’re not special. Just power through it and down a coffee like the rest of us.”
Renjun should probably pick better friends. But Yangyang might be right. It’s possible he’s being a bit dramatic, and that maybe some caffeine would fix the problem. Renjun generally tries not to have coffee past noon—he’s sensitive to caffeine, okay—but he has his neuro lab later in the evening and he kind of really needs to be awake for it, even if it means he’s going to be up past midnight.
He even saw a cup of coffee in his dreams last night. Maybe it was a sign. Or maybe he’s just losing it.
“Yeah, whatever,” he says, knocking a shoulder against his. “I’m gonna stop at the coffee shop on the corner then. You want anything?”
“Ooh,” Yangyang says. “So generous. That’s very unlike you.”
“Do you want something or not?” Renjun asks, scowling.
Yangyang, delighted by his misery, just grins. “Nah, I’ve got a Chatime shift at 2 that I should probably get to.”
Renjun looks down at his phone. “It’s 2:05 already.”
“Fuck,” Yangyang says. Worst employee of the month, every month. “Okay. Gotta go.” He takes off in what Renjun knows to be the opposite direction of Chatime, and yeah. He seriously needs to pick better friends.
The shop is blissfully empty when he walks in. Renjun usually comes early enough to beat the rush of students pouring in before their morning lectures—disgustingly early, in Yangyang’s words—so he’s never had to wait in line for more than a few minutes at a time.
His phone buzzes with a text as he approaches the counter. why didnt u tell me i was walking in the wrong direction, Yangyang is saying.
What was I supposed to do, Renjun texts back. You took off before I could say anything.
“Hi,” the barista says.
Renjun, still fiddling with his phone, says, “Hi. Can I get a—”
“Caramel macchiato with two pumps of hazelnut syrup instead of vanilla? Your usual?” Renjun’s gaze darts up, and is greeted by a familiar mop of pink hair. His eyes travel lower—Jaemin, the name tag reads. “It’s on the house.”
“What the fuck,” Renjun replies. Is he an illusion? A trick of the light? A delusion pulled from the depths of his sleep-deprived mind? “It’s y—”
“You know,” Jaemin says, cutting him off. “I’m a little hurt that you didn’t recognize me. Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised though. Half the time you walk in here you’re in such a daze you hardly even look at me.”
Renjun frowns. “Not true.”
Jaemin smiles with all the teeth in the world. He is beautiful in the way Renjun guesses biblically accurate angels might be, terrifyingly beautiful. Awesome in the biblical sense of the word. Renjun noticed it on the train—he’d have to be blind not to—and he’s noticing it now, too. As if he knows what Renjun is thinking, Jaemin’s grin only widens. “Once, you handed me your medical insurance card instead of your credit card.”
“I—there’s no way I did that.” Surely not even Renjun could be that oblivious, right?
“You did,” Jaemin says. His canine teeth are scarily sharp. “Did you know we have the same provider?”
“That has to be a HIPAA violation somehow.”
“This is a coffee shop. And you’re the one who gave it to me!”
Renjun looks around uselessly. Are they the only two people in here right now? “Do you remember all your customers?”
“The cute ones,” Jaemin says, unflinching, then follows up with, “Do you fall asleep on all your baristas?”
“I mean. No, but it was for a class,” Renjun says, dumbfounded. “I-It was an experiment.”
Jaemin puts his hand to his heart. “I thought what we had was special,” he says mournfully. “You’re breaking my heart.”
God. Annoying. He’s annoying. The most annoying part of it all is that Renjun is still into him. Maybe even more so than he was before. And also, Jaemin hasn’t even started making his fucking coffee. “You’re breaking my heart. I was supposed to fall asleep on strangers, not people who knew me already. You skewed my results.”
“Would it help if I said I would’ve done the same thing even if I didn’t recognize you?” Jaemin says, batting his eyelashes.
“Not really,” Renjun answers honestly.
Jaemin pouts at him. “Ouch.”
“Sorry,” Renjun sighs, shoulders slumping forward. “I’m just stressed. Not really having a good day.”
“Let me make it better?” Jaemin says. “There’s a movie at 7 that I’ve been—”
“I’m busy.” Jaemin pouts harder, and Renjun rushes to clarify. “No, like, actually busy. I have an evening class. That’s why I’m here getting coffee now, instead of.” He gestures vaguely. “At an earlier hour. Also, I don’t really like movie dates.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re very difficult to please?” Jaemin asks, elbows on the counter, leaning in close. His eyelashes are absurdly long. He is still pouting, and Renjun isn’t sure whether he wants to slap it off his face or kiss his absurdly contorted lips.
“Yes,” Renjun says. “Constantly. Almost every single day of my life.”
It’s deeply unfortunate that Renjun is more charmed than he is put off by Jaemin’s obnoxious laughter. “Okay. So you’re busy tonight. When can I take you out, then?”
“Tomorrow,” Renjun says. “My last class ends at 3, so any time after that. But come up with something better than a movie.”
“Yes, sir,” Jaemin replies, and reaches for a cup sleeve to scrawl his number onto before passing it to him over the counter.
Renjun takes a hold of it. Jaemin doesn’t let go.
“If you’re free now, though, the next barista’s shift doesn’t start for another hour,” he says, with a meaningful glance at what looks to be a supply closet behind him.
“That seems bad for business,” Renjun replies, but he can’t lie and say he’s not considering it. Is this rock bottom? It feels a little bit like rock bottom. “…But I am free. And stressed. Like I said before.”
Jaemin’s tongue darts out to wet his lower lip. Renjun is a little surprised it’s not forked. “I could help with that,” he says, eyes dark.
Renjun is not normally this type of person. But the past few weeks have been a study in going outside of his comfort zone, so. “Lead the way,” he says, and tries not to shudder at the way Jaemin’s gaze falls on his mouth, obvious and hungry.
He leaves the shop fifty-eight minutes later with free coffee, a bruised neck, and a text from Jaemin in his phone promising to pick him up at six the next day.
Renjun decides rock bottom has never felt so good.
…A mask.
🚉
This is stupid, Renjun thinks, even as he hands his card over the register. Definitely one of the stupidest things you’ve done in your entire life, Renjun Huang. Mask in a dream. It doesn’t mean anything. Or it wouldn’t, if Renjun hadn’t spent the last two fucking weeks thinking about the idiot in the embarrassing Phantom costume on the train. But he had. So maybe it doesn’t mean anything, but it also means everything. Somehow.
“That doesn’t even make any sense,” he says out loud to himself. Across the counter, the girl handing him the bouquet freezes. “I’m…sorry?” she asks.
“Sorry. Not directed at you.” Renjun winces apologetically and takes the roses from her. Jesus. He’s seriously losing his grip on reality, here.
The bell on the door tolls as he makes his way out of the store. Central Theater, next Tuesday, 8 o’clock. That was two weeks ago now. It’s pretty much a long shot to be showing up two weeks late, not to mention so, so stupid. But what does Renjun have to lose?
A lot. The answer is a lot. He lost part of his dignity on the train that day, part of his dignity in the flower shop just now, and he’s going to lose whatever is remaining of it in—he checks the Maps app on his phone—T-minus 5 minutes. And sure, some (Yangyang) might say. What does Renjun have to lose besides his dignity? Except dignity is everything to Renjun, and he doesn’t typically make a habit out of putting it at stake, not even for cute boys with cute moles and all the well-earned confidence of a trained performer.
But, well. There are exceptions to every rule.
The man working at the box office gives him a look caught somewhere between confusion and judgment when Renjun walks in with an armful of roses. “There aren’t any shows today,” he says.
“Oh, um,” Renjun deflates. “I’m actually looking for one of the actors?”
The half-confused half-judging look turns to one of suspicion. “Can you tell me what their name is…?”
“The thing is…” Renjun says, trailing off. “I don’t really know his name…?”
Suspicion turns to incredulity. Is this guy an actor himself too? Renjun wonders. Because his facial expressions sure make him seem like one. “You don’t know his name,” he repeats, disbelievingly.
“I know how it sounds.”
“I don’t think you do. You don’t know his name, and you expect me t—”
“It’s okay, Doyoung,” a vaguely familiar voice comes, and then there’s a lean body pressed up against Renjun’s back and strong arms wrapping around his waist. “He’s with me.” Renjun twists his head back, and nearly drops his bouquet. God. He’s even more unfairly attractive without the mask. “I thought I told you not to be late, sweetheart?”
Sweetheart. “Sorry,” Renjun says, but it comes out more like a squeak.
Doyoung scowls. “You know you have to tell me when you’re expecting visitors, Donghyuck.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Donghyuck says dismissively, already leading Renjun away in the opposite direction. “Next time.”
“Where are we going,” Renjun whispers under his breath.
“You came to see me, didn’t you?” Donghyuck asks sweetly. “I’m taking us somewhere we can talk. Or I could take us somewhere we can not talk, too, if you’d prefer that.”
The implication is not lost on Renjun. Heat rises to his cheeks. “Talking is fine. Just talking.”
Donghyuck steers them to the right and down another hall before they come upon what looks to be a tiny dressing room. “Sure. By the way, it seems pretty unfair that you know my name, but I don’t know yours.”
“Renjun. It’s Renjun, and—you can let go now,” Renjun mutters. “He can’t see us anymore, we don’t have to put on the whole lovey dovey act. You might be playing the Phantom, but I’m no Christine.”
Donghyuck’s breath ghosts over his neck, fanning out warm, and Renjun flinches away from it on instinct. “Christine wasn’t in love with the Phantom,” he says. “Have you ever even watched the show?”
“No,” Renjun says, and finally manages to squirm enough that Donghyuck is forced to relinquish his (surprisingly tight) hold on him. “I only got halfway through reading the Wikipedia page on the way here. And—who said anything about love?”
“You did.” Donghyuck plucks the bouquet out of his hands. His voice is mournful. “You brought me red roses. You know what those mean, don’t you?”
“I didn’t know what else to get,” Renjun says defensively. “You said to bring flowers. Roses are flowers.”
“Astute observation,” Donghyuck replies, thumbing over a petal. “But aw. You’re saying you don’t love me, then? How will I recover from this?”
Renjun’s mind is reeling. “It’s not like you love me either, we literally just met.”
“I don’t love you yet. But I think I could.” Donghyuck says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“How do you do that,” Renjun blurts out. “Just—being so shameless. You don’t even know me.”
Donghyuck shrugs. “Call me a hopeless romantic. But I’ve always believed in love at first sight.”
Renjun smiles at him weakly. “I’m not sure if I do, though.”
If Donghyuck is disheartened by this, it doesn’t show. If anything, his resolve only seems to grow. “My next performance is in a week,” he says. “Maybe actually show up this time, and we can see if you believe in love at third sight.”
It’s corny. It’s cheesy. But more than that, it’s brave, in a way, and Renjun hasn’t been brave in a very long time. “Yeah,” Renjun says, and he can’t help but laugh as Donghyuck laces their fingers together. “Yeah, maybe I will.”
“Good. And by the way,” Donghyuck says, leaning down low. “You don’t need to bother with the flowers next time. I’ll settle for a good luck kiss, instead.”
…Nothing.
🚉
“Oh my god,” Yangyang snorts. “You have to see this.”
They’re at Renjun’s apartment for once. Usually they’d be hanging out at Yangyang’s place, but Dejun brought someone over the previous night and, according to Yangyang, they still haven’t left.
It’s been twelve hours, he’d said to Renjun with tired eyes, when he appeared on his doorstep without warning. Our walls are so thin. Renjun only let him in because it was a little comforting to know he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t slept well the night before.
Renjun blinks as a phone is shoved into his face. “If it’s another mini horse meme,” he says, a thread of warning in his voice. “I’m telling you right now, I don’t—”
“It’s not,” Yangyang insists. “Seriously. Just read it.”
Begrudgingly, Renjun takes the phone and holds it a more respectable distance away from his face. “This is the University Confessions page.”
“Yeah. Read it already.”
Missed connection, it says. You were the cute blond boy on the train on November 23. I was the guy you fell asleep on. I really wanted your number, but I was too shy and couldn’t work up the courage to ask for it. If you see this, I’ll be at—
Renjun’s read enough. “This could be anyone,” he says, handing Yangyang’s phone back to him. “People fall asleep on other people all the time.”
“You’re kidding,” Yangyang frowns. “With the same hair color as you? On the same day we were running the experiments?”
“There are a lot of blond boys in the world. In this city, even.”
Yangyang ignores him, as Yangyang is wont to do. “You should meet up with him. You should go.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Why not? It’s like something right out of a romcom. You love those.”
Irritation flares through Renjun, white hot, as he turns to face him head on. “Why are you so desperate for me to start dating someone?”
Yangyang, oblivious as ever, blinks slowly. “I’m…not desperate.”
“You are,” Renjun insists, brow furrowed. “You practically threw me at every single vaguely-attractive man I fell asleep on while we were doing the experiments.”
“You haven’t dated anyone in the entire time we’ve been friends. Like, almost three years,” Yangyang says, as if Renjun is unaware of his own dating history. As if he needed reminding. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t know you hated the idea of dating again so much.” He reaches out to take Renjun’s hand, and Renjun hates that all the fight dies in him with such a simple touch. “I just want you to be happy, you know? You deserve that.”
Renjun can’t help it—he softens. Moments of honesty are rare for them. Few and far between. They’ve never had a particularly touchy-feely friendship, preferring instead to hide behind teasing and sarcasm. But maybe just this once, it would be okay for Renjun to be honest, too.
Yangyang’s sincerity is probably deserving of his own sincerity in return.
“Yangyang Liu,” Renjun says, and prays his voice doesn’t waver. “For once in your life, just use your brain, and think about why I haven’t dated anyone since becoming friends with you.”
Yangyang stares at him, his face perfectly blank. “Um,” he says. His hand is growing clammy.
“Seriously. Think.”
“I’m trying! I really don’t know. I thought maybe you just had low self-esteem, but I don’t think that’s i—”
Fuck. Does Renjun have to spell everything out for him? “If I was going to date anyone on that train,” he snaps, finally. “It would be you. Idiot.”
"You—” Yangyang stutters. “You can’t just say that, and then call me an idiot after!”
He has a point. Not that Renjun will ever tell him that. “Yes I can. And I just did. Idiot.”
“Seriously, you are so…” Yangyang trails off, and the look of genuine confusion on his face would be hilarious if it weren’t also a little distressing. “Why me?”
“Why you?” Renjun repeats, in disbelief. “You’re joking, right?”
Yangyang shakes his head wildly. “I mean, all those guys, they were so—and you’re so—”
“Listen to me,” Renjun says, and takes Yangyang’s face in his hands so they’re staring directly at each other. “You held my hair back for me when I threw up into the toilet at Sig Mu during our sophomore year. You always peel my shrimp for me when we go out to hotpot. You almost got a speeding ticket trying to get to the airport on time to pick me up after Winter Break, just so that I wouldn’t have to wait for the bus by myself. You gave up two days of your life to help me with some dumb psych experiment.”
“It wasn’t dumb,” Yangyang says weakly. “It’s not dumb, because it mattered to you.”
God. He is so stupid. Renjun likes him so, so much. “Do you get it now? You did all of that. Not any of those other guys. Of course I would choose you over them.”
“Gross,” Yangyang replies, but his cheeks are reddening rapidly. “Kinda gay.”
“Yes. That’s the idea,” Renjun says.
Yangyang blinks rapidly, and it does nothing to distract from how wet his eyes are. “I walk slower sometimes because it means I get to spend that much more time with you,” he admits. “And because if I’m really lucky, you’ll even hold my hand, too.”
“That’s gay,” Renjun says, leaning in to rest their foreheads together. Yangyang’s hand circles his arm loosely, his thumb stroking over the pulse point of Renjun’s wrist. “For the record, you don’t need to impede the flow of pedestrian foot traffic or invent weird excuses to spend time with me. Or to establish physical contact.” A pause. “In fact, I’m going to kiss you now. If that’s okay.”
“Yeah,” Yangyang says hoarsely. “It’s okay. It’s really okay.”
The existence of confounding variables means that sometimes, experiments have unexpected outcomes. Renjun leans in, and thinks—he’s grateful that his have led to this.