Chapter Text
He was bursting with happiness. He had managed to get into the country’s most prestigious university and was now among the select few chosen for the top fraternity at Paulo Freire University: Pi-PF. It was highly competitive, with very few vacancies, and nearly every student dreamed of being a part of it.
The headquarters was a two-story house with an attic and a basement, featuring game rooms, a spacious kitchen, and a constant stream of parties. Every weekend—and even on weekdays—events took place, ranging from what some called "parties" to what others termed "intimate gatherings." The institution's most illustrious alumni had passed through those halls, making the house legendary over time. A spot only opened up when a member graduated or left the university, so vacancies weren't available every year. He had been immensely lucky that, in his freshman year, two spots had opened—and he had been selected as a candidate for one of them.
There were thirteen rooms in total. Twelve were occupied by two students each; only the President held the privilege of a private room.
Everyone was gathered to find out which senior the two freshmen would be paired with. Ziyu’s only wish was to avoid the Vice President. Although everyone spoke highly of him—describing him as extremely intelligent, charming, handsome, friendly, and easy to talk to—rumor had it that the room next door, the President’s room, was a constant revolving door of men and women. Ziyu could only think about how he would manage to study with the President sleeping with someone different every night, exactly as the rumors described.
The President had only one rule: he never slept with fraternity members. Still, many desired him, and some even tried to join other fraternities just for a chance to experience the "wonderful night" he reportedly provided. He was extremely responsible and followed his own rules to the letter: he rarely repeated partners, and emotional bonds were out of the question. At the very least, he was a conscious person—and Ziyu believed that was why so many admired him, despite their constant desire to be part of his exploits. They said he was very good at everything he did.
Ziyu’s breath was shallow as he surveyed Pi-PF’s main hall. It was vast, with high ceilings, U-shaped sofas, and an ancient fraternity shield hanging on the wall that looked as though it had witnessed a lifetime of stories. The noise was a blend of laughter, whispers, and the nervous snapping of fingers against legs. He didn’t really know anyone yet, but he felt as though he were being evaluated by everyone at once.
The two freshmen sat side by side in chairs that felt harder than they should. The other candidate, a handsome and sweet boy named Liu Cheng, couldn't stop smiling and interacting. Ziyu couldn't. His smile came and went, as if he were afraid to let it linger for too long.
He had only one thing on his mind: Room 13. Please, anything but Room 2.
Room 1 belonged to the President—the only single room, tucked right against the Vice President's. Room 2 belonged to the Vice President, Zhan Xuan, and sat exactly adjacent to the leader’s quarters. The problem wasn't the Vice President; the problem was the noise coming from the neighboring wall. The President’s "rotation" was famous. It wasn't a scandal; it was an organization: different people, predictable schedules, entrances and exits that were too quiet for those awake... and too loud for those trying to sleep or study.
The VP didn't mind. Ziyu did.
He studied at night. Always. Since high school, it was the only time his head felt clear, free of voices, demands, or expectations. He needed silence like he needed water.
The President entered the room with steady steps. Tall, firm posture, with a gaze that seemed to measure invisible distances between people. His name was Tian Xuning. He was handsome in a way that required no effort: hair always in place without looking over-styled, sharp eyes, and a mouth that rarely broke into a wide grin—but when he did smile, the room went silent.
He greeted a few seniors with a short nod and took center stage. Tian observed the new members with a look that mixed boredom and authority. He waved two folded slips of paper between his long fingers. On one side, Room 2, belonging to the VP—a strategic location. On the other, Room 13, an isolated room at the end of the hallway, known for being the quietest and, therefore, the least desired by the rowdier seniors.
Ziyu kept his thoughts fixed on the slip for Room 13. To him, that was the ultimate prize. Room 1, where Tian slept, was the epicenter of the "nightly festival." The walls of the old house were charming but offered little insulation. Being in Room 2 meant being just inches away from Tian’s headboard.
"Well," Tian began, his deep voice cutting through the whispers. "The Vice President needs someone who can keep up with his organizational pace, and Room 13 needs someone who doesn't mind the distance."
He looked at Ziyu. There was something about the freshman that bothered him: the lack of awe. Ziyu didn't look at him with the gaze he was used to receiving; he looked at him as if he were an obstacle.
"There are only two spots and two rooms available." A ceremonial silence fell over the group. "Room 2, belonging to VP Zhan. And Room 13, belonging to senior Ren."
Ziyu swallowed hard. Tian waved the papers again.
"The choice is random. But fate likes to play."
A few people chuckled. Ziyu closed his eyes for a second. Room 13. Room 13. Room 13.
Tian extended his hand to the first freshman. "Pick one, Liu."
Liu pulled a slip, opened it, and beamed. "Room 13!"
The room reacted with murmurs and applause. Ziyu’s heart sank to his stomach. He already knew. Tian stepped toward him and held out the last paper.
"Your turn, Ziyu Peng. But we already know where you ended up, don't we?"
Ziyu took the paper with cold fingers. He opened it slowly, as if the word might change if he were slow enough. But there it was: "Room 2." The Vice President raised an eyebrow instantly.
"Room 2. With Zhan, our VP," Tian announced.
There were laughs and expressions of "good luck." Ziyu couldn't react; he just stared at the paper as if it were a printing error. The VP approached, smiling easily and extending a hand.
"Welcome to the organized chaos. I'm Zhan."
"Ziyu," he replied, shaking the senior's hand politely.
Zhan seemed to be everything they said: charismatic and confident. And he was completely oblivious to the fact that, for Ziyu, this result was a minor disaster. Tian watched in silence. It wasn't common for someone to look so disappointed about sharing a room with the VP. That caught his attention.
Later, while the seniors explained rules and traditions, Ziyu barely heard a word. His mind was drawing maps: the distance from Room 2 to the library, to the study hall, to the kitchen... to anywhere that wasn't Room 1.
When they were dismissed, Ziyu followed Zhan down the long hallway, decorated with old photos of past classes and presidents. Room 1 was at the very beginning. The door was closed, but low voices drifted from inside.
Zhan pointed to the door next to it. "This one's ours."
Ziyu hesitated for a second. "Is... the noise usually like this?"
Zhan laughed. "Depends on the day. The President has an active social calendar, but he tries to be discreet."
"Discreet" wasn't the word Ziyu would use to describe someone who made the walls vibrate in the middle of the night. Room 2 was organized: two beds, two study desks, and aligned wardrobes.
"Take your pick," Zhan said.
Ziyu chose the bed furthest from the wall shared with the President's room.
"Afraid of the noise?" Zhan noticed.
"I study at night," Ziyu nodded.
"I get it. I almost never go to bed early, so I'll swap beds so you feel more comfortable."
It wasn't exactly comforting, but Ziyu was too exhausted to care about the noises the President made that first night. He slept, though he woke up several times to loud whispers, anything-but-discreet moans, and laughter coming from the other side of the wall.
On the second night, exhaustion gave way to routine. Ziyu tried to study, spreading out books and notebooks. At midnight, the voices started in Room 1. Muffled laughter, footsteps in the hallway, the door opening and closing. By 1:00 AM, he gave up. He gathered his things and slipped out in silence.
He walked through the nearly empty house until he found a small pantry next to the kitchen. There was an old table, crates serving as makeshift stools, and a dim light. It was paradise: silence. There, he sat down, took a deep breath, and finally felt like himself again.
Lost in his thoughts, Ziyu didn't notice the shadow watching him from the doorway. He only felt a slight chill on the back of his neck, as if the air pressure had shifted. He adjusted his glasses and, ignoring the sensation, stepped fully into the pantry, closing the door and leaving the outside world—and the tall man watching him—behind.
Tian watched. He said nothing.
Tian Xuning didn't usually care about what happened outside of his immediate control. As President, his job was to keep Pi-PF running. His nights were transactions: pleasure for distraction, no names, rarely any repeats. But something about the image of that freshman sneaking into a pantry among bags of rice and cleaning supplies shifted his perception of dominance.
He could have walked in and questioned why Ziyu wasn't in Room 2, the spot so many others would beg for. He could have said the pantry was no place for studying. But Tian simply took a step back, returning to the shadows of the hallway.
For the first time in years, the silence of the house felt louder than the lyrics of the song “Brinquedo Torto” Pitty, playing at that exact moment:
"...Esqueci as regras do jogo
E não posso mais jogar
Veio escrito na embalagem
Use e saia pra agitar..."
The game didn't need a board. That night, the rules were rewritten in the silence of a dimly lit pantry. The President took the fraternity seriously, and the freshman took his future seriously. The problem was that, from now on, both would start taking each other far too seriously.
Without realizing it, that night, they both took the first step in a game neither of them knew was beginning.