Chapter Text
You were open to the possibility of meeting the love of your life at university. You just never thought it’d happen in your least favourite professor’s office.
You, like many others in your course, were failing hard in your Global Economics class. It was your professor’s fault, mainly… at least, that’s what everyone told themselves. Half of the blame went to your professor, who seemed to only speak at 10% volume in murmured tangents, and the rest went to the fact that the class started at 8am on a Monday. Who in their right mind could attend that even if they tried? Seriously, you vowed the curse the bloodline of whoever scheduled this semester’s timetable.
Lectures mattered, yes, but not that much, right?
In reality, you actually were doing significantly worse than your peers. While everyone else wailing about how little they studied for the exam, it was basically fact that they all either lied or already had knowledge of the curriculum hardwired into their DNA. While most others who swore they’d fail managed to stay within the average, you were one of the very unlucky few who seem to have genuinely flunked. You could hear Joshua’s half-smug half-empathetic ‘I told you so’ already. He didn’t make it to a lot of the 8am lectures either, but his attendance did stay above 50% while yours was at a cute and gentle 30.
But yes, lectures didn’t matter that much, right?
This became an affirmation you recited from midnight until dawn the night before the exam. Plus, accounting was your specialty, not global economics! In truth, there was only so much that cramming could do to save your grade. Clearly not much, considering the ominously worded e-mail sent by your professor a fortnight later:
‘Please meet me in my office in H-33 ASAP, my available periods are attached below. This is regarding the latest examination.’
The latter detail wasn’t necessary. You knew it wasn’t your best work the second you turned the paper in, considering the number of unfinished paragraphs and run-on sentences that barely passed as legible. You open your messaging app and text Joshua, the only other person doing business you could stand to have a conversation with, a straightforward:
‘i might be screwed lmfao’.
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Out of breath and 10 minutes late, you reach towards the doorknob of room H-34. You have a feeling you won’t be leaving this room with dry eyes. Nevertheless, you swallow down the growing lump in your throat and step inside.
“There you are,” the professor’s voice barely reaches your ears over the pounding of your heart, “You’re a bit late, so we’ll have to rush through this.”
“I’m sorry, sir.” you puff out in one breath, to which he replies with a simple hum.
He averts his gaze towards the old-looking computer on his desk, typing something out as you situate yourself into the seat facing him. Awkward silence passes as the middle aged man in front of you clicks on what you can only assume to be unflattering files about you, grades, attendance sheets, the like. You take this moment to anxiously wring your hands and glance around the poorly lit room and depressing furniture choices when the professor leans back in his leather chair and clears his throat.
“Right..! Well, I’m sure you’ve noticed that you haven’t received your grade on the last test.” you nod, though you hadn’t even realised you were supposed to get your grade by now. he continues, “I’ve liaised with the other instructors, and at the stage you’re at right now, it’s likely you may have to retake the class.”
You should’ve seen this coming. you should’ve, but you didn’t want to. Those late nights spent binging movies with your roommate Vernon, or gaming with online friends, then staring at your assignments before closing the tab and promising to Joshua that you’d start them the next day. You’re not good at keeping promises, you’ve come to realise. Honestly? You’re not even good at business. Accounting is easy, the calculator does all the heavy lifting, but every other aspect? It’s not even a case of business being a difficult subject to learn, it’s just… boring. You may as well be learning techniques on how to watch paint dry.
So why are you failing?
‘A lack of motivation’ says Vernon—damn easy for him to say, cinematography has been his biggest obsession since birth, probably. You like movies too, but he knows them, analysing lighting choices in every film scene and passionately explaining camera angles like his life genuinely depended on it.
What could you even say about business management? That you worked a couple part-time corporate internships your parents organised? But then you’d have to omit that you’d often cry in the bathrooms and count down the days until you could quit. You didn’t want to do this stupid subject anymore, but you’ve gone this far, it’s too late, and your parents…
“But… you’re a good student. I know you have the capacity to do so much better.”
Instinct nearly makes you scoff and roll your eyes right in front of your professor. You’ve heard many different alterations of this line over many of these past months.
“Thankfully for you,” the professor takes his hand off the computer mouse and leans forward, elbows resting on the mahogany desk, hands clasped together as his gaze meets yours, “We’ve come across a golden opportunity. I’m not sure whether you’ve heard of this… upcoming… cross-subject collaboration project the art faculty are doing?”
“No… I don’t think I have.”
He sighs and sifts through the pile of documents within the stacked black letter trays on the corner of the desk, eventually fishing out a purple flyer with the title ‘Arts in Action’ displayed in large, bold bubble writing.
As he explains the project in the most roundabout manner—dropping the word ‘interdisciplinary’ more times in one speech than what should humanly possible—you zone out, only mentally returning when he states that participation alone could grant you enough credit to completely bump up your grade. Before you can have a single critical thought, you vehemently agree.
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“What do you mean you’ve never heard of it? I’ve literally been talking about it all the time.”
Vernon takes the pizza you’re both sharing out of the oven, cursing under his breath at the heat of the tray. The shared flat between you two is quiet tonight, the only background sound being the clanking of the oven tray and the creaking of the chair you keep readjusting yourself in.
“Wait—is that why you always have that super tall guy over?” you audibly gasp, “I genuinely thought you two were dating or something. I think I literally told him I’m surprised you could pull him.”
Vernon shoots you an incredulous look, “Fuck you, first of all. Secondly, his name is Mingyu, and he’s my partner for Arts in Action. He’s majoring in some travel thing, geography or whatever?“
“So that’s why you’re making a travel doc! I just assumed you suddenly became interested in the local tourist industry.” You giggle to yourself, leaning over to grab a pizza slice before he’s even finished slicing it.
“You assume a lot of things, apparently…” He walks over, not bothering to plate the food, proceeding to explain the gist of this Arts in Action project.
You don't fully listen, more preoccupied with the cheesy delicacy begging you to devour it. From what you do manage to pick up, it seems that the university's arts department is short on money, and decided to run some pseudo-charity event to raise funds and improve the employability of their students. To do so, they had the grand idea of collaborating with the other departments to highlight the importance of art in every aspect of life.
One can only wonder how they got the business department to agree to this. The corporate world is definitely wanting for more artistic flourish and creativity, but were you planning to be the one to promote this change? Hell no. You have cheese pizza to eat and an extensive movie list to finish.
Vernon switches the focus to you, “But how and why on earth did you join? I thought applications closed.”
Summarising the situation in between chewing, you explain that some fine arts student’s partner dropped out of the project to prepare for some acting gig overseas. What you didn’texplain is that the fine arts student was fine art himself. This ‘Minghao’, was tall, hair dyed such a beautiful brown that it may as well have been his natural hair colour, decked out head-to-toe in expensive name-brand clothing. He was waiting outside your professors room—to the latter man’s request—waiting to introduce himself and exchange contact details.
From the first impression, everything about his appearance, stature, and communication felt unique and purposeful. In other words, the opposite of you, always eager to comply and scared of not fitting in as you are. You were attracted to him, there was no use in denying that, but you were also sure you’d never be able to get his number if he weren’t desperate for a last-minute project partner.
What really solidified that assumption was Vernon’s reaction to name-dropping him.
“Minghao… as in Xu Minghao?”
You nod, “Is there another?”
He raises his eyebrows, “No it’s just… Damn, I heard he’s pretty popular. Even people in my course keep talking about him.”
“For his art, or..?” you question, innocently.
“Yeah. I mean, I’ve seen some of his stuff around the walls of the art building. It’s seriously impressive.”
“Seriously impressive, huh?” It’s high praise, coming from Vernon.
“Well, that’s what people are saying,” he leans back, offering the last slice to you which you graciously accept.
“What else are they saying?”
He half smirks, and you nearly think he’s about to address what you’re trying really hard to not address. You blurt out an excuse, trying your hardest to stay straight-faced, “I mean, I don’t wanna be stuck in a project with some asshole.”
“That’s the thing, though,” Vernon sighs, “I don’t really know anything else about him, nobody really does. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him walking around campus with another person.”
Ominous.
“Whatever,” You abruptly stand up, picking up the pizza box to toss into the bin, “My professor said I’d get enough credit through participation alone. I don’t really need to care about this project nor my partner.”
Vernon smiles softly, “Sure. But I don’t know, this could be good for you. I keep telling you to try out new things.”
You fail to think of a smart enough response and walk out the kitchen door, leaving Vernon to his own devices while you head for your room.
Well, shit. Taking stock of the situation, not only did you blindly sign up for a huge project you were unwilling and completely unenthusiastic about participating in, your partner is some super attractive, insanely talented, mysterious guy? Is this a cliché teen rom-com?
Your phone buzzes and lights up. Your stomach drops ever so slightly when you reluctantly read it.
‘This is Minghao. When are you free this week?’
You should’ve chosen to retake the class.