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The faint hum of late-night campus life drifted through the open windows of Hyunjin’s apartment. The studio-turned-living room smelled faintly of oil paints, graphite dust, and the sharp tang of caffeine-laced energy drinks. A single desk lamp illuminated the chaos—sketchbooks stacked haphazardly, acrylics scattered like fallen leaves, and Hyunjin, hunched over a massive canvas, his long fingers working with practiced urgency.
Felix peeked through the cracked door, his freckles scrunched in concern. “Hyune, you seriously need to eat something. It’s been—what? Ten hours?”
Hyunjin didn’t look up. His honey-brown hair was tied in a messy knot, stray strands plastered to his forehead with sweat. “I’m almost done. Just a few more details.”
“You said that four hours ago.”
“Exactly. I’m closer now.”
Felix sighed, muttering something about calling in backup before disappearing down the hall. A few moments later, he texted the person he knew would handle it best:
Felix: [1:12 AM] Changbin. Emergency. Hyunjin’s doing the thing again.
Changbin: [1:13 AM] Noted. I'll be there in 5.
Across town, in a slightly more organized dorm with fewer paint stains and more rap posters, Changbin shot up from his bean bag the second he read Felix’s message. Han and Chan barely looked up from the track they were mixing.
“Hyunjin again?” Chan asked without glancing away from the screen.
“Yeah,” Changbin replied, already shoving snacks into his backpack. “He’s pulling an all-nighter and skipping meals again.”
“You’re such a simp,” Han teased, grinning.
“Damn right,” Changbin retorted, slinging the bag over his shoulder. “Catch you guys later. Don’t burn the studio down.”
“No promises,” Chan called after him.
Hyunjin didn’t hear the knock. Or the second one. On the third, he muttered a sleepy, “Come in,” thinking it was Felix again.
Instead, Changbin waltzed in with the kind of confident energy that made professors both love and fear him.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Picasso’s overworked reincarnation,” he announced, setting down his bag and striding over to Hyunjin, who finally looked up, blinking in surprise.
“Changbin? What are you—”
“Rescuing you,” he said, pulling Hyunjin up from his stool despite the artist’s protests.
“I’m in the middle of—”
“—Killing yourself? Yeah, I can see that. Come on, up. You reek of stress and turpentine.”
Hyunjin groaned but didn’t fight him too hard. “I’m fine.”
“You look like a Victorian ghost. Don’t make me princess carry you to the kitchen.”
Hyunjin flushed. “You wouldn’t.”
Changbin leaned in close, lips brushing his ear. “Bet.”
Hyunjin shoved him half-heartedly. “You’re annoying.”
“You love it,” Changbin said, grinning.
And he wasn’t wrong.
They ended up in the kitchen with instant ramen bowls steaming between them and a bottle of banana milk Changbin somehow conjured out of his bag. Hyunjin stared at it, eyes wide.
“You remembered.”
Changbin shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Of course I did. Banana milk is sacred.”
Hyunjin smiled, the exhaustion showing through now that he wasn’t hyper-focused. “Thanks.”
Changbin softened. “You don’t have to thank me. Just take care of yourself. You can’t draw if you pass out.”
Hyunjin poked at his noodles. “I just want it to be perfect. The project means a lot.”
“You mean a lot,” Changbin said, voice quieter, more serious. “Your art is incredible, but not if it costs you your health.”
Hyunjin looked up at him, eyes glinting in the low kitchen light. “I’m not good at stopping.”
“Good thing I’m great at making you stop.”
“Cocky.”
“Truthful.”
There was a silence, not uncomfortable, just full. Hyunjin reached across the table and stole a piece of Changbin’s egg. “You’re still annoying.”
“Still love me though.”
“Yeah,” Hyunjin said softly. “I do.”
The next day, Hyunjin actually woke up in bed. Which was weird, because he distinctly remembered falling asleep at his desk. Then he noticed the blanket draped over him, the empty bowl on his nightstand, and a note scrawled in Changbin’s blocky handwriting:
“Tucked you in because you’re adorable when you sleep and also because Felix said your spine was turning into a question mark. You’re welcome. Also, I stole your hoodie. Fight me. -CB”
Hyunjin smiled and grabbed his phone.
Hyunjin: [10:34 AM] You thief.
Changbin: [10:34 AM] Your hoodie smells like you. Best decision I ever made.
Hyunjin: [10:35 AM] Stop flirting.
Changbin: [10:35 AM] Make me ;)
Hyunjin: [10:36 AM] Felix says he’s kicking you out next time.
Changbin: [10:36 AM] Felix loves me.
Felix: [10:37 AM] No, I really don’t.
Later that week, while everyone else was grinding through group projects and overdue essays, Hyunjin and Changbin managed to sneak away for an afternoon at the campus botanical gardens. It was Felix’s idea, though he claimed it was just to get Hyunjin out of the house so he could clean without tripping over paint supplies.
Hyunjin stretched out on the grass, sketchbook open on his lap, eyes half-lidded from the sunlight and the lingering aftertaste of the bubble tea Changbin had bribed him with.
“What are you drawing?” Changbin asked, chin resting on Hyunjin’s shoulder.
Hyunjin angled the sketchbook slightly. “You.”
Changbin blinked. “Me? Naked?”
Hyunjin elbowed him. “You wish.”
“Every night.”
“You’re such a flirt.”
“Only for you.”
Hyunjin tried to roll his eyes but failed to suppress the small smile tugging at his lips. The warmth between them, the quiet hum of wind in the trees, the scratch of pencil on paper—it all felt so soft, so rare in their usual storm of deadlines and ambition.
“Thanks,” Hyunjin murmured, voice barely above the breeze.
“For what?”
“For being here.”
Changbin looked at him for a long moment. Then, gently, he kissed Hyunjin’s temple.
“Always.”
Weeks passed in a blur of deadlines and practices. While Hyunjin battled with brushes and light studies, Changbin juggled rap battles and studio sessions with Chan and Han. Their group, still underground, was gaining traction, their SoundCloud blowing up after a shoutout from a mid-tier rapper.
Late-night phone calls became a ritual. Hyunjin sketching while Changbin talked about lyrics. Changbin humming melodies while Hyunjin vented about critiques. Sometimes they didn’t talk at all—just existed in digital proximity, breathing through the silence.
Hyunjin fell asleep to Changbin’s voice more than once.
One night, during a group dinner at Leeknow’s place, the whole crew gathered—Seungmin and Jeongin bickering over kimchi ratios, Han beatboxing between bites, Felix trying to get everyone to play a game he’d just downloaded. Amidst the chaos, Changbin draped an arm around Hyunjin’s shoulders.
“How’s the new project going?”
Hyunjin leaned into him without thinking. “Better. The professor actually complimented my draft today.”
“See? What did I tell you? You’re a genius with paint.”
“You’re biased.”
“Terribly. Still right, though.”
“Still annoying.”
“Still love me?”
“Every day.”
When finals hit, everyone was a mess. Jeongin and Seungmin were buried in vocal drills. Felix and Leeknow alternated between dance rehearsals and existential crises. The rap trio was busy prepping for their first live gig at a dingy student bar known more for its sticky floors than its acoustics.
But through it all, Changbin made time. Whether it was 3 AM snack runs, quick kisses between classes, or long hugs that wordlessly said, “I’m proud of you,” he was always there.
And Hyunjin? He finally learned to let him in.
The night before the gig, Hyunjin surprised Changbin by showing up at their apartment with a bag of food and a new sketch.
“What’s this?” Changbin asked, mouth full of tteokbokki.
Hyunjin handed him the drawing. It was of Changbin, mid-verse, eyes fierce and alive. The detail was incredible—every shadow, every angle captured with loving precision.
“This is… wow.”
“You’re my muse, apparently.”
“Can I kiss you now or should I cry first?”
“Do both.”
The night of the gig, Hyunjin stood in the crowd, front and center, wearing his stolen hoodie back-to-front over his paint-stained shirt. Felix was next to him, bouncing on his toes. “They’re going to kill it.”
“They always do,” Hyunjin said, smiling as Changbin stepped on stage.
Under the red and blue lights, Changbin’s gaze found him instantly. He winked.
Hyunjin rolled his eyes.
And smiled.
Because yeah, he loved this annoying, flirty, ridiculous boy.
And maybe, just maybe, this chaotic, paint-splattered, late-night-college-life wasn’t so bad after all.
Backstage, after the show, when sweat still clung to his skin and adrenaline hadn’t quite worn off, Changbin pulled Hyunjin into the greenroom and kissed him like he was something sacred.
“You came,” Changbin whispered against his lips.
“Always.”
“You’re still wearing the hoodie.”
“It’s mine again.”
“We’ll see about that.”
They laughed.
And held on.
And walked back out into the night, hand in hand, ready to face whatever came next.