Archive of Our Own

Seungcheol laughs for five minutes straight when he finds out Jeonghan, soaked in Pocari sweat and missing a shoe, got kicked out of the golf course of all places.

Jeonghan, understandably so, finds the situation less entertaining.

“Yah!”

Seungcheol doubles over, clutching his sides as he gasps for air. He looks hideous like this, cheeks all scrunched up and puffed out with his mouth open wide, a gaping, traitorous, raccoon that Jeonghan has to live with for at least another two years.

A drop of that stupid sports drink rolls down his neck, reminding him of how sticky he already is. Maybe he’ll make Seungcheol clean up his mess, since he seems to find it so entertaining.

Seungcheol falls off the sofa.

Okay, so it’s not that funny.

“It’s that funny,” Hansol declares, chopsticks full of Mingyu’s ramen.

Why is he eating Mingyu’s ramen?

Minghao just laughs in the background, giggling as he falls against the sofa mid-conversation with Soonyoung, likely, since he was already giggling before Mingyu walked in.

Mingyu scowls, pointing with the shoe he managed to grab before running out. “No, it’s not.”

“Hyung, it’s even funnier, actually,” Seungkwan adds, because he’s the bane of Mingyu’s existence and takes great pleasure in watching Mingyu humiliate himself in public. Never mind that he’s been the instigator in some of these instances too, claiming that it’s good for Mingyu because he gets off on that.

Let Mingyu set the record straight: he does not get off on that. He has very normal sexual interests that do not involve public humiliation, not the way Boo Seungkwan would like the public to believe. He’s just better at taking a joke than any of his friends, who enjoy teasing him a little too much anyway. They should fix that maybe.

Actually, as a matter of fact, why are his sexual interests any of the public’s interest?

“You’re popular, hyung,” Seungkwan sings, ducking behind Hansol when Mingyu considers throwing that stupid shoe at him. “Face it, half of campus probably wants to sleep with you. Walking around dripping wet probably awakened new fantasies in the other half.”

Mingyu crosses his arms over his chest, scandalized. A little too late, considering he’d been wearing a white t-shirt out, so if it’s soaked, his situation is more hopeless than he’d previously thought it to be. Was that why that guy had given him a weird look? “I don’t want that!”

“Obviously, they wouldn’t either if they had to spend an hour with you, Mingyu-ah,” Minghao offers, like that’s supposed to be any consolation. “You’re just tall and hot to them. They don’t know how incredibly uncool you are.”

Because Minghao, pretentious and artsy Minghao, would know all about cool. He goes to a fashion show once, because of Hansol’s friend, no less, and declares himself the authority. He’s also in denial about being in love with someone who might love tiger print more than Minghao, even if they’re already dating.

Unfortunately, no one else in the room seems to disagree with him either. Mingyu’s scowl falls into a pout. “I need new friends.”

“I think Seungcheol hyung might still consider you his favorite,” Hansol offers, which is a true consolation prize, considering that Mingyu’s never had competition there, but he’s also going to take it because his pride is wounded. “Although, he might still be moping about Jeonghan hyung rejecting him.”

It’s been nearly two years, what the hell is that hyung still moping around for?

Mingyu’s scowl returns with a vengeance and he stomps off down the hall to shower. He pretends to not hear the muffled laughter behind him when he gets his head stuck in the shirt.

He’s going to burn that stupid t-shirt.

Technically, if you think about it, this isn’t Mingyu’s fault. It may take two to tango, but it only takes one person to turn on the right sprinkler system at the wrong time. Something about wanting to play pretend until you’re let in—they were both just bored.

But that’s just getting ahead of himself.

So maybe he’d forgotten to reserve the soccer field for the extra hour after Seungcheol abandoned him to pine after his best friend. And maybe said best friend slash roommate had rejected Seungcheol, who’d forgotten to tell Mingyu that he, in fact, had not reserved the extra hour for them to practice. And maybe Mingyu hadn’t checked the schedule to make sure that the extra hour was free before he decided to practice his side volleys too.

But the other guy didn’t have to be so pretty either. Mingyu has always had a weakness for pretty boys.

So he opens his mouth and instead of saying something about how he didn’t realize how much time had passed, he speaks nonsense.

“You can have it if you can score on me.”

Pretty boy raises his eyebrow under his baseball cap. Oddly familiar baseball cap, in fact. Oddly familiar pretty boy too, but Mingyu can’t quite place him. He’s pretty sure that he’s stolen a similar cap from Seungcheol before though, so they must shop at the same place. “You think I can’t score on you?”

Well. The problem is that Mingyu isn’t thinking at all. “I’ve never seen you around here before?”

Is he hitting on him or trying to get the guy to hit him?

The guy crosses his arms, tapping his instep against the side of the ball. “So?”

So? Mingyu should probably shut his mouth now. And go for a nice long run in the opposite direction of the soccer field so the pretty guy can use it.

What does he actually do?

“Are you scared?”

The guy scowls. “What, just because you’re tall, you’re good at soccer?”

Mingyu blinks. “You think I’m tall?”

The guy’s scowl melts into mild, if confused, amusement. Seungkwan is probably in Hansol and Minghao’s apartment, repeatedly smacking his forehead. He doesn’t give Mingyu a response, simply flicks the ball forward and dribbles around him before Mingyu even realizes it.

By the time Mingyu does realize the guy’s gotten past him, it’s a matter of making up the distance between the goal. It’s not even like Mingyu’s bad at defense—he’s tall, so he’s often been relegated to defense. He’s never really played goalie and he’s often spent time tag-teaming as a striker with Seungcheol. Mingyu plays the main striker as the taller player, and gets the ball in the clear for Seungcheol to take the shot, since he’s shorter and a faster sprinter.

He’s never regretted taking Jihoon up on training as a goalie more than when Jeonghan practically twirls past him, shooting clean through his legs as the ball hits the net. It’s even more embarrassing when he realizes that’s a move straight from Seungcheol’s playbook.

Well, no. That just means this is Seungcheol’s fault too. First, he abandons Mingyu to be rejected; then, he forgets to renew their field reservation because he’s busy being rejected, and now, he’s training other people on his secret techniques.

The only small point Mingyu can count in his favor is that the other guy looks exhausted, breathing heavily enough Mingyu thinks he might have made him work for it.

And then the guy takes off his hat to run a hand through his hair, floppy brown bangs and all, and Mingyu falls a little in love. Or like, because, as Seokmin not-so-kindly keeps reminding him, he can’t keep falling in love with anyone who’s pretty and mean to him.

“Well, Mingyu-sii, that was a good effort.”

It feels like less of a win when he says it that way. Mingyu’s head snaps up. “How do you know my name?”

The guy stares at him, befuddled. “Are you not the junior Seungcheol hangs around?”

At least he knows that Seungcheol’s the one hanging around him and not the other way around. Not like he spends a fair amount of time in Seungcheol’s kitchen or anything.

“You know Seungcheol hyung?”

“I hope I know my roommate?”

“You’re Seungcheol hyung’s roommate?”

Too many dots are connecting. At an alarming rate. Mingyu should check with Minghao’s artsy friends if that’s normal.

The guy opens his mouth, then shakes his head. “Yes? Did he not—why are you just repeating what I’m saying?”

Mingyu frowns, absentmindedly taking a step forward. “That means Seungcheol hyung confessed to you.”

This gets the guy to wince, before he scowls something fierce. “Does your Seungcheol hyung tell you everything he does?”

“You rejected him.”

The guy also takes a step forward, crossing his arms over his chest once more. “Are you trying to defend his honor or something?”

Why would he do that? In fact, he plans on marching over to Seungcheol’s—and this guy’s, apparently—apartment to point and laugh at him for five minutes straight so he knows that Mingyu is entirely unsympathetic to his rejection.

“What? No. You’re the reason he didn’t extend my field reservation.”

The guy narrows his eyes at Mingyu, lifting a hand to point at him with his cap hanging off the tip of his pointer finger. Maybe it’s Seungcheol’s cap. “Seungcheollie made my field reservation.”

A traitor, that’s what Seungcheollie is. A traitor who pretends to be all cute to get Mingyu to cook for him. See if Mingyu ever cooks for him again.

He will, of course. Seungcheol got rejected, so naturally Mingyu is going to cook for him. While laughing at him.

“Also, what’s all this about me rejecting him, did he not tell you that I already rejected him in our first year?”

How would Mingyu know what Seungcheol was doing in their first year? He was busy stressing about getting into law school back then. Mingyu shrugs. “Maybe it wasn’t important enough to mention.”

He’s about to get really good at digging. Digging his way further into his own grave if he keeps opening his mouth like this.

“Not important enough to—” Pretty boy gets oddly animated when he’s irritated—angry?—with his big eyes going wide and his voice going all shrill. “What, he tells you he has feelings for his roommate and doesn’t even mention my name or anything? It’s that important to him?”

To be fair, all Seungcheol said was that he was cancelling on Mingyu to mope about his roommate rejecting him. It’s only striking him now that he probably should have asked for more details, especially since it looks like he got over the guy quickly enough to reserve him field time over his favorite dongsaeng.

“What is your name?” Mingyu shouts, not realizing how close they are.

“Yoon Jeonghan!” He yells back, chest heaving and all Mingyu can think about is how long his eyelashes are, how his lips curve up slightly despite his agitation, how he’s shorter than Mingyu but Mingyu feels like he’s the one looking up at him, and how he’s probably the prettiest person Mingyu’s ever lost to in soccer.

And then Yoon Jeonghan promptly tells him to get lost so he can actually use the field for the time he reserved it.

All in all, this is clearly Seungcheol’s fault. Not Mingyu’s.

Normally, Jeonghan wouldn’t think twice about running into one of Seungcheol’s many adopted dongsaengs. His roommate has a penchant for collecting them, housing them—not feeding them, because he can’t cook—but he’s never really run into most of them. Junhui is the one exception, because he’s often working with Seungcheol on projects and Jeonghan has his own theories about the way Seungcheol clings to Junhui’s waist, but Jeonghan’s never run into Mingyu before.

Heard of him, maybe. Heard about his food? Definitely.

Okay, so maybe he’s seen a picture or two from when Seungcheol’s mentioned him, but that’s more on Seungcheol for clearly picking favorites between his friends, not Jeonghan for picking up on it.

He just didn’t expect him to be so… rude. Mingyu might be tall and typically handsome looking in Seungcheol’s pictures, but Jeonghan never figured Seungcheol would pick the arrogant one as his favorite. He’d just assumed that the rumors were rumors, but he really doesn’t want to see Mingyu again now.

Although, the mala long xia he had left behind for Seungcheol had been really good. Even better than Junhui’s favorite Chinese restaurant, but maybe not as good as when Junhui himself makes it. Jeonghan still doesn’t know if Seungcheol knows he finished it, but since he hasn’t said anything, he sees no reason to bring it up either.

He tosses his cleats into the shoe closet, showering before he slips into the kitchen again.

“Jeonghan-ah~” His roommate whines from the living room. Jeonghan ignores him when he sees the new container with what appears to be seafood pasta in it. That’s definitely not for Wonwoo.

“Stop telling people I rejected you,” Jeonghan calls back from the kitchen, grabbing a clean fork from the drawer. Seungcheol whines something else, though it’s muffled by the pillow he’s lying on. “How much did you like this pasta?”

“Stop harassing my dongsaengs—don’t eat my pasta!”

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow, deliberately spearing a piece of penne and waiting for his best friend to lift his head up before he eats it. His hair’s all messed up and he looks more like his older brother’s dog than usual now. He takes a bite, grinning when Seungcheol scrambles to sit up, still whining.

“It’s not like you made it anyway,” Jeonghan adds. “Half of the food in this apartment is because Mingyu keeps feeling bad for you.”

“Mingyu!” Seungcheol exclaims. “You can’t eat his pasta if you’re going to torment him like this.”

That little brat has already ratted him out, apparently. Though, he’s not that little and Jeonghan hasn’t done anything wrong, so maybe he and Seungcheol are just attached at the hip.

“Torment?” He chews through a mouthful of pasta. It’s probably better warm, with the cream sauce all heated up, but he can taste the flavors just fine cold too. “You’re the one who told him I rejected you, apparently.”

Jeonghan isn’t entirely sure why it bothers him so much that Mingyu thinks there’s something between him and Seungcheol. Especially when there kind of was, when they first met, and it led to them moving in together in the first place. It never went anywhere, but they did have a certain kind of chemistry that even Jeonghan was surprised by.

What he’s more surprised by is that Seungcheol is very much over him and apparently still milking that for sympathetic food. Seungcheol falls in love with all of their friends, it’s practically a right of passage. Jeonghan’s sure he’s fallen for Mingyu too, if he’s not still somewhat infatuated with their junior, what with how often he whines on Instagram about Mingyu not hanging out with him.

He doesn’t like that thought either. Seungcheol and his bleeding heart can stay out of his soccer practices for a little bit, thank you very much.

Seungcheol frowns. “I don’t think I emphasized it that much—”

Jeonghan doesn’t get to point out that Seungcheol is the more dramatic one between both of them and in denial about it because the apartment door swings open wildly, nearly denting the wall behind it. “Hi Joshuji.”

“He doesn’t want me!”

There’s a phrase Jeonghan doesn’t like that he can relate to.

Seungcheol hugs the pillow in his lap. “The civil procedures TA?”

“He’s into our civil procedures TA?” Jeonghan asks, at the same time that Joshua swings the door shut. Talk about questionable taste, their civil procedures TA has an easy thirty years on Jisoo, and hairline that’s past receding now. It’s preceding, maybe.

Jisoo makes a face, wrinkling his nose at Jeonghan—which is rude, because Seungcheol’s the one that implied that first—before he drops onto the sofa. “Wonwoo!”

Jeonghan sighs, tossing his fork in the sink and putting the pasta back in the fridge. He’s lost his appetite, stomach twisting whenever he looks at Jisoo. All of his friends are crazy—he might very well be the most normal one of them all.

“You’re a cradle robber, Joshuji,” he says instead, grabbing his laptop to schedule his next field session.

Jisoo sputters in the background about how Wonwoo’s less than a year younger than him, actually, and how both Jeonghan and Seungcheol have gone for younger men in the past. This sets Seungcheol off, and he tosses aside his pillow, narrowly missing Jeonghan’s laptop, as he starts protesting about how all of their friends are younger than him, meaning that the majority of people he spends time with will be younger than him.

Jeonghan doesn’t particularly care. There’s only one person he’s liked seriously lately, and he hardly counts as younger since he isn’t even half a year younger than Jeonghan. He also famously has shown no interest back, so Jeonghan would like to ignore that and pretend that Seungcheol’s favorite junior isn’t ruining his life now.

“Shut up,” Jeonghan mutters, staring at the screen. There’s no way.

When he and Seungcheol signed up to join the intramural soccer clubs on campus, they’d been matched into different teams since they’d signed up in their first year, before moving in together.

Seungcheol had ended up with Mingyu, and Jeonghan didn’t particularly know anyone on his own team, but he’d become fast friends with Boo Seungkwan.

He hasn’t regretted that decision until today, when he sees all the slots booked out, glaring red, with Seungcheol’s team’s name filled in.

And another: Kim Mingyu.

“Yah, Choi Seungcheol—”

“Do you have to use my full name?”

Jeonghan gives him a look over the screen of his laptop. “Seungcheollie. Why is your team monopolizing the soccer field?”

Seungcheol stares at him, big baby cow eyes round and wide. “Huh?”

“Why is Kim Mingyu reserving every possible slot for the soccer field?”

Seungcheol blinks. “How would I know?”

Jeonghan throws his hands up, frustrated. “He’s your main striker, isn’t he?”

He looked up their formations when Seungcheol’s sleeping. It’s not cheating if Seungcheol hasn’t read his KakaoTalk messages with Seungkwan where they’ve gone over their own formations. They both know each other’s phone passwords.

Seungcheol narrows his eyes. “How do you know he’s my main striker?”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. Okay, Seungcheol told Jeonghan his password. Jeonghan assumed that

Seungcheol eventually figured his out too.

Jisoo makes himself comfortable on the other end of the sofa, pushing at Seungcheol to make space for himself to sit there too. “Who’s Kim Mingyu?”

And. Well. Jeonghan kind of wants to ask himself that too.

Not that it matters, because come Saturday morning, he’s dragging himself out of bed earlier than he normally would have and shuffling up to the soccer field.

He shivers at the wind, pulling his jacket tighter and wishing he’d taken Seungcheol’s instead. The gate isn’t even open when he gets there.

“This is a stupid idea,” he mutters to himself, shoving his hands in his pocket and stepping from side to side to try and warm himself up a little more.

“What is?”

Jeonghan startles, hair brushing over his eyes when he turns around. Without the baseball cap on, he can see their height difference even more clearly.

“You know what you’re doing,” Jeonghan grumbles, still shivering when he points menacingly at Mingyu. “Taking up all the reservation slots for the soccer field for the next month.”

Mingyu shrugs nonchalantly, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows, all innocent like his appearance isn’t a bad omen Jeonghan can’t shake. What is he, some kind of curse? Jeonghan’s had good luck his whole life, why does it not extend to cocky, tall, and pretty law students too? “Isn’t it good to practice when you lose?”

Come to think of it, Junhui’s quite tall. And pretty. And a law student, obviously. But he’s not cocky at least.

Then again, both Jisoo and Seungcheol are cocky, pretty, law students. They’re not tall, but they do follow Jeonghan around like apostles of misfortune and doom.

It’s Seungcheol’s fault he’s even here this early in the morning, if you think about it.

Jeonghan narrows his eyes at him. “You don’t even have a ball with you.”

He grins guilelessly, swiping his card through the gate and making a show of letting himself in. Jeonghan hesitates as he’s closing the door, sticking his foot through the opening. “Running is equally important, no?”

He could be running on a treadmill. On the track. Anywhere but the soccer field, where he’s not even playing soccer.

And because he clearly doesn’t know when to stop, he adds: “You could always join, if you wanted. Stamina training and all that.”

Jeonghan takes back every nice thought he’s had about Mingyu’s food. He’s still going to eat it, of course, because nothing’s more satisfying than watching Seungcheol complain after convincing his dongsaengs he’s helpless, but he’s not going to think anything nice of it.

Jeonghan scoffs, pulling his foot out from the fence and slamming the gate behind him. “Just because Seungcheol calls you his favorite doesn’t mean I have to like you!”

Mingyu pouts, considering his options. “Seungcheol hyung might like it if we’re friends, you know!”

Seungcheol might not like it so much if they start losing to Jeonghan’s soccer team, of course, but Mingyu strikes him as the type to have always been too competitive for his own good. Also, Jeonghan doesn’t care—if Seungcheol loses again this year, it’s going to be because his team is just better.

Jeonghan yanks his hand out of his pocket just to flip him off as he marches away. Mingyu throws his head back and laughs.

So. Jeonghan knows a guy. And by knowing a guy, Mingyu realizes he’s convinced Wonwoo’s little brother to hack into the soccer field reservation system to transfer the field slots to his team instead.

Or, at least, that’s Mingyu’s working theory, because he’s never seen his roommate receive that many boxes of Buldak ramyeon all at once.

“Wonwoo hyung,” he calls out.

“No!” Wonwoo sings, and Mingyu sulks on the couch for the rest of the afternoon. He trips on a ramyeon box on the way back from class and debates the merits of taking them both to court if he were to dropkick it off their balcony.

Since he can’t practice his dropkicks in the field anymore.

He decides against it. Wonwoo’s a good roommate but he’s also capable of making him disappear if anything were to happen to his ramyeon. Mingyu will have to get back at him some other way.

This time, at least, Seungcheol appears to be on his side. Mingyu’s lost a bit of his trust in him after finding out that he’s been confessing to the enemy, but at least Jeonghan clarified that.

Somewhat.

“That’s not your shirt,” Mingyu says, staring at the offending piece of clothing. “Hyung, I don’t think you’ve ever owned anything from that brand in your life.”

And then he muscles his way into the apartment because Seungcheol hasn’t held the door open for nothing. “Oh, it’s probably Jeonghannie’s.”

See. His favorite hyung, fraternizing with the enemy.

“Don’t make that face, it’s just a t-shirt. It probably got mixed up in the wash.” Seungcheol locks the door behind him, handing Mingyu the remote while he grabs the freshly heated ramyeon. “I’ll talk to him about the soccer thing. Not sure what you did to piss him off like that, because he’s usually not aggressive or anything, but we could use a few extra practices before the season starts up again.”

Mingyu smirks to himself. Seungcheol takes the soccer season so seriously, like they’re professionals and not twenty-something law students trying to get some physical activity into their days while maintaining their cutthroat competitive spirits. Jeonghan clearly listens to him too, so there’s no way this doesn’t play out in his favor.

He takes the bowl from him. “What makes you think I did something to him? He’s the one who’s got Wonwoo and his little hacker brother breaking into the system. It’s not that serious, is it?”

To be entirely clear: Mingyu is aware he could have said a whole lot less that first day. But he’s never been good at conceding defeat—and it looks like Jeonghan isn’t either. He didn’t even mean to reserve a whole month’s worth of practices, just the week, but the website froze and he was too lazy to go back and change his reservation.

It wouldn’t be the first time his brain betrayed him when it came to riling Jeonghan up though.

Seungcheol gives him a searching look, shrugging. He pouts when he eats, and it would be endearing if it weren’t for the fact that looking at Seungcheol reminds him of his t-shirt belonging to the traitor.

The conversation dwindles, meandering into something else after Mingyu and Seungcheol’s first clash following their first can of beer.

“Hyung,” Mingyu says, half asleep and halfway through his second can of beer. Seungcheol’s slumped against his side in a similar state. He hums—grunts?—and Mingyu pats his hair, wondering how he gets it so fluffy. “Give me your t-shirt.”

Seungcheol snorts. “What for?”

He doesn’t see the vision. “Just because.”

Jeonghan will simply not see it coming. It’s the ultimate power move, a checkmate, if you will. All Mingyu has to do is execute it right and it’ll work, he’s sure of it.

“Yah, what is it with you and Jeonghannie, huh?”

“Nooo,” Mingyu whines, curling further around Seungcheol. “It’s not like that. I just want the t-shirt.”

He’s preying on his weakness now. Seungcheol loves cuddling. He’s probably the clingiest friend Mingyu has ever had. He’s probably the closest Mingyu gets to experiencing what other people experience when they’re around Mingyu.

“I don’t even know if it’s his,” Seungcheol protests, though he’s already melting against Mingyu. It’s working. “Go steal something else if you want to change.”

And. Well. That’s even better, in a way.

Mingyu grins.

The last thing Jeonghan expects to come back to after being dragged for a night out with Joshua, as he continues to try—and fail—to seduce Wonwoo, is his roommate and his roommate’s idiot dongsaeng sprawled across the giant couch that he suggested they buy, practically arguing with each other.

They’re both too big and noisy.

“Jeonghan-ah!” Seungcheol trills, though he’s still got Mingyu in—is that a headlock?

It’s none of Jeonghan’s business, suddenly.

Mingyu makes a muffled sound of protest and Jeonghan sees the moment the idea sparks, the way his eyes light up and there’s just a glint of his pointy fangs before Seungcheol’s crying out and pushing

Mingyu’s head back, though he doesn’t even bother to let go of him.

He’s too tired for this. “You’re so loud.”

“Jeonghan-ah,” Seungcheol repeats, voice so filled with aegyo, Jeonghan nearly trips over his own feet. “Can we have our soccer times back?”

“What do you mean back, I signed up on the same site he did?” He juts his chin out at Mingyu, who’s quietly fiddling with the zipper of his hoodie, either too far gone to realize that the conversation includes him, or deliberately ignoring him.

“We had all of the practices for this week,” Seungcheol continues. “We can split them, truce?”

Jeonghan shrugs, sitting down to unlace his boots, keenly aware of a pair of eyes following his every move. He’s too tired to look up to see if it’s Seungcheol or Mingyu. “I don’t have a problem sharing with you, but he clearly has a problem sharing with our team.”

“I don’t have a problem sharing with Seungkwannie’s team!”

So he knows Jeonghan’s teammate. Lovely. He’s never going to escape this guy.

“We could even make them joint practices,” Seungcheol offers, throwing his weight back on Mingyu.

Jeonghan hopes they both have terrible hangovers. At least, if he’s going to be suffering tomorrow morning, they should be too.

It’s not a bad idea either. He’d only asked Wonwoo to convince his brother to change the time slots because he wanted to get back at Mingyu for reserving them all, but they didn’t necessarily need them. This is the first year Mingyu and Seungkwan are even playing for the club, so it’s not like

Jeonghan’s worried about losing. They beat Seungcheol’s team easily last year, after all.

“Fine,” he relents, because he really is too tired to be holding a grudge. They’ll just win the intramural championship again and it won’t even matter. Maybe Mingyu will make that mala long xia again too, and then he can stay over with Seungcheol as much as he wants.

He should only be so lucky.

Jeonghan’s never been particularly unlucky, but for whatever reason, Mingyu’s not running around playing striker. He’s midfielding, and unfortunately good at it too. He’s also on defense, which means

Jeonghan has to get around approximately 186 cm of muscle to get anywhere.

He’s exhausted by the end of the first half of the game. Even Seungkwan looks more tired than usual, despite being one of the most energetic people Jeonghan has ever met.

“Is he a dog, hyung?” Seungkwan hisses under his breath, still clutching his knees. “He’s still running.”

Jeonghan chokes back a breathless laugh, flopping back on the ground. “Might be. Let’s hope classes tire him out more when games start.”

Seungkwan gurgles in response, halfway through gulping down yet another bottle of water. “Let’s hope he sleeps through the first half too. He’s got too much energy.”

Still, Seungkwan is the first to propose a scrimmage at the end of the reserved field session, and

Jeonghan is less than pleased to find himself boxed out of every shot he’s used to taking. Plus, Mingyu’s so big that he can easily block Jeonghan by just standing there, meaning that he has to work twice as hard just to get open.

Hyungwon scores the final goal, but their team still loses by a point. Seungcheol takes it way too seriously, cheering and lifting Mingyu up like the guy really is his baby or something, and Seungkwan roils in the corner like a rumbling thundercloud.

“Hyung.”

Jeonghan doesn’t need him to finish that sentence. “I know.”

Mingyu has it on good authority that the basketball court is empty around this time, particularly because most of the second and third years are wasting away trying to finish their coursework. Of course, the first years are equally busy, but he’s ahead on all his work.

For quite a stupid reason, of course, but his parents don’t need to know that. Either way, their son will be a lawyer, petty grudges aside.

“Oh, Mingyu hyung!”

Mingyu startles, dropping the basketball and spinning around. He breaks into a smile. “Seungkwannie!”

Seungkwannie drops his bag on the bench, holding his hands out. Mingyu tosses him the ball. “Were you waiting long?”

Not that he was waiting at all, but this might be even better than his original plan. “Nope!”

He shucks his hoodie off, tossing it over the bench by his bag and rolling up the sleeves of his t-shirt.

Seungkwan raises his eyebrow, but says nothing. Mingyu doesn’t particularly care to hear his friend’s thoughts on his tendency to show off.

Seungkwan checks him the ball and Mingyu shoots from the three point line, holding his breath when the ball dances around the rim.

He makes the shot though. Not with as much ease as Seungkwan does the next when it’s his turn, but he doesn’t need to be better than Seungkwan.

Well. Not unless he’s better than Seungkwan.

The game ends in a tie, though it’s definitely one Mingyu had to work for. Seungkwan’s sweating too, but Mingyu looks like he elected to run a marathon through the desert with a cactus in his hand.

Considering he’s a law student trying to master every possible sport just to be prepared, he might as well have.

“Did Seungcheol hyung say when he’s free?”

Mingyu tilts his head. “Free for what?”

“A proper game. We’ve probably got enough people to play six on six or something, since Myungho hyung’s still recovering.”

That’s not quite what he was aiming for, but it’ll be more natural than Mingyu trying to ambush him himself. He’s winning, anyway, since he was definitely a lot less tired after their joint soccer practice.

“No,” he drawls, spinning the basketball on his finger. “But I can double check with him. He should be free this weekend anyway, though.”

He has Seungcheol’s calendar in his phone, because Seungcheol takes being the captain of their soccer club way too seriously, especially when it comes to their soccer practices, despite not having played beyond informal games with his hometown friends as a kid.

Seungkwan smiles. “Great, I think that should work for Jeonghan hyung too!”

It works a little too well.

Jeonghan and Seungcheol show up to the court together, after Mingyu’s already finished warming up. It was a tactical move on his part, to get a bearing for Jeonghan’s skills while he warms up with free throws, but Seungcheol corners him first.

He presses an ominously heavy hand on Mingyu’s shoulder. “Oh, Mingyu-ah, can you pick up drinks for everyone?”

Mingyu pouts. “With my card?” He’s hoping that Seungcheol will say yes, so that he can complain and weasel his way out of it.

Seungcheol just rolls his eyes and makes a show of reaching into his pocket to pull out his wallet before tossing it to Mingyu. “Get twelve?”

He sighs, catching the wallet and nodding. Mingyu ends up picking up an extra drink too, since Seungcheol’s paying anyway. He regrets not being able to get an idea of what Jeonghan’s skillset is like, but he’ll probably be able to figure it out once they start playing.

There’s a fairly significant overlap between the people he knows and the people Seungcheol knows.

He already knows Seungkwan, of course, and because he knows Seungkwan he also knows Hansol.

He’s known Minghao and Seokmin since college, and now he knows Soonyoung a little better because of Minghao.

Actually, he’s not sure what Soonyoung is doing here. Mingyu doesn’t think he’s seen anyone more terrible at basketball than Soonyoung—which is surprising, considering that Soonyoung’s day job is very much being a professional dancer and choreographer. Mingyu doesn’t think he’s seen a better dancer before, but apparently his dance skills don’t translate to being good at sports.

He’d asked Soonyoung once, but all he’d gotten in response was that tigers didn’t need to know how to play ball. Whatever that meant.

Mingyu also knows Wonwoo, his randomly assigned roommate, who’s a second year like Seungcheol and Jeonghan. He thinks he might recognize the other guy next to Wonwoo as someone Minghao might know from the Chinese international students group, though he doesn’t recognize the other three.

The shortest of the three, and likely the shortest of their entire group, does look a little familiar from Soonyoung’s shared pictures, so Mingyu guesses that he must be Jihoon, Soonyoung’s best friend. The one standing in the middle with a thick striped beanie looks the youngest and Mingyu’s definitely never seen the third guy before.

Jeonghan’s leaning against him, though he keeps trying to shove him off. Seungcheol’s just laughing at both of them and doing nothing to stop it, so he’s probably Joshua, the international student from the U.S.

“We should have the best players be captains,” Seungkwan calls out, when the kid in the beanie finishes drinking his water.

Seokmin steps forward bravely, and Mingyu has to muffle a laugh. Seokmin’s not bad at basketball by any means, but he’s definitely not the best player. Seungcheol pushes him back. “Me and Seungkwannie?”

What Mingyu doesn’t expect to hear is Seungkwan looking between Mingyu and the other side of the court. “Mingyu, Jeonghan?”

He’s good at basketball too?

Fortunately, or less fortunately, Seungcheol ignores him and says that he and Seungkwan will be picking teams, starting off with a game of rock, paper, scissors, to decide who picks first.

Seungcheol wins. “Mingyu.”

Mingyu makes a face. “I don’t want to.”

“Right, you need someone big,” Jeonghan says. Mingyu isn’t sure if he means it as an insult or not, but Jeonghan looks like he could fall over if the wind blew hard enough, the way he flaps around like one of those inflatable tube men.

But he stands by Seungcheol’s side anyway and waits for Seungkwan to make his choice. “Jeonghan.”

“Oh, all the aces are gone,” Minghao’s friend calls out, which leaves Mingyu to wonder why everyone seems to know each other already. Seungcheol takes the American student, confirming Mingyu’s thought that he must be the Joshua that Seungcheol has mentioned every so often, to which

Seungkwan takes Hansol.

That’s not a bad team, by any means, because Mingyu knows Hansol’s decent at basketball. At least, he’s better at basketball than he is at soccer, so Seungkwan’s team still has a chance if Jeonghan is as good as they claim he is. Mingyu doesn’t know how good Joshua is, but if Seungcheol’s picking, he must be too. He takes Seokmin next, because he looks like he’s on the verge of sulking about how everyone’s denying his improvements, and Seungkwan takes Jihoon. Seungcheol picks out the two people Mingyu doesn’t recognize, Junhui—Minghao’s friend—and Chan, while Seungkwan completes his team with Wonwoo and Soonyoung.

It’s surprisingly balanced, from what Mingyu can tell. Minghao has said he would stay back this time and maybe join them another time. Mingyu logically suspects it’s because he’s got a showcase coming up and doesn’t want to injure himself.

Logic that has evaded Soonyoung, who immediately jumps in and starts bouncing around. He’s two seconds away from colliding with someone else, likely Chan, considering he’s supposed to be guarding him. Or, at least, Seungkwan keeps calling for him to do so.

As it turns out, he and Jeonghan don’t even end up playing against each other as much. Jeonghan switches out with Seungkwan and Mingyu is more than occupied trying to fend Seungkwan off. He’s a monster when it comes to basketball, nearly as intense as he gets when he’s watching volleyball in Minghao and Hansol’s apartment.

Still, Jeonghan’s good at basketball. Really good. To the point where it’s starting to piss Mingyu off a little bit—does he have to be good at everything Mingyu likes to do? An underhand throw that was probably supposed to be just a pass, turns into a three-pointer. Mingyu’s irritated that he’s impressed.

And he’s not even the best player on that team—it takes both Seokmin and Joshua to fight off Seungkwan’s affinity to score.

That isn’t to say that Mingyu’s bad at scoring either. He’s responsible for half the points their team has, by virtue of his height giving him an advantage in scoring. Seungcheol gets too heated about it, cursing whenever he or Seokmin lose the ball, but he’s probably calmer than Soonyoung, who still hasn’t even touched the ball, but has run around the entire court at least three times.

There’s a moment when Mingyu’s less than half a meter away from the hoop, in position to do a layup, at the very least, but Jeonghan’s hands brush against his waist—to pull him down, probably—and he stumbles, the basketball bouncing off the rim and back into his hands again.

“Mingyu-yah!” Seungcheol cries out, ready to complain and whine about the missed shot.

He makes the shot the second time around, but Jeonghan’s hands linger for a second too long and he nearly doesn’t.

It doesn’t even matter—he’s able to put it out of his head until they win the game, until he’s got Seungcheol hugging him like the koala he is, until he makes eye contact with Jeonghan, who looks more pensive than Mingyu has ever seen him.

His hands flex around the ball and he drops it when he realizes Mingyu’s looking back. Soonyoung throws himself at Jeonghan’s side, knocking him off balance and breaking their silent staring contest.

He doesn’t know what that’s all about.

It’s not just basketball.

Jeonghan likely should have come to that conclusion sooner, since this whole thing didn’t start with basketball.

In all honesty, it probably would’ve been better for both of them if it was just basketball.

But when he looks up from his notes to see that Mingyu’s on the other side of the lecture hall, cheek against his palm as he nods along to the speaker’s argument, he muffles a scoff, nudging Seungcheol in the side. His best friend’s taking their mock debate class to nap instead, meaning that Jeonghan has to stay awake and pay attention, even if he would rather be the one to sleep.

As if this could ever be just anything.

“What.” Seungcheol mumbles, lifting his head. His hair is a mess. Jeonghan sighs, dropping hand to help pat it down, so it doesn’t actually look like he’s been sleeping for the past hour.

“They’re almost done,” Jeonghan mutters. “Why are there first years in this class?”

“Huh?” Seungcheol sits up further, dislodging Jeonghan’s hand with a gentle pat as he finishes straightening out his hair. “Wonwoo said he couldn’t even get into this class.”

Oh, Jeonghan knows all about that. He was present for the entire debacle—sitting in Jisoo’s apartment, sprawled across the couch while Jisoo draped himself over Wonwoo’s shoulders to try and help him register for the class, like Wonwoo wasn’t leagues better with a computer than Jisoo to begin with.

Not to mention, he had been more confused by how Mingyu just quietly lurked in the corner, tapping away on his own laptop without saying a word to any of them. He’d only looked up when he bumped into the wall, nearly bowing and apologizing to it before turning back to his laptop.

Meanwhile, Jisoo migrated into Wonwoo’s lap, watching as Wonwoo grew more and more confused with his own class schedule. Wonwoo’s still oblivious to Jisoo’s advances, but the fact that there are advances at all still makes his stomach twist.

Seungcheol had mentioned it once, that Jeonghan got all quiet whenever Joshua would start talking. Jeonghan didn’t know what to tell him, just shrugged. In some ways, that was worse than hearing Jisoo laugh when Jeonghan asked him if wanted to grab drinks together some afternoon instead of just flat out rejecting him.

Ultimately, Jeonghan finds out that Jisoo’s dropped the class altogether and decided to take it next quarter with Wonwoo.

No matter, apparently Jisoo’s shameless flirtations have given Kim Mingyu a front row seat into Jeonghan’s favorite class.

“Oh, Mingyu,” Seungcheol adds, because he’s the resident expert. And then—because he shares this in common with the man himself—he continues very unnecessarily: “He must have registered early?”

Even Jeonghan could have figured that out for himself. Seungcheol grins when he stays quiet. “Aww, come on, don’t you think it’ll be fun to debate against him? He’s quite good.”

He’d have to be, to be doing well in the best law school in the country while spending every waking hour apparently training for whatever sport Jeonghan decides to pick up next. He’s about to pick something obscure out of spite, if it means Mingyu will be thrown off.

Of course, the alternative is that he doesn’t have to pick anything at all, that he can just stop sending Mingyu on a wild goose chase just so he can beat him—or, on a few rare occasions, lose to him—and instead just do his thing, but that would be losing.

Something he’s clearly not very good at.

Something he is good at: debating. Winning cases. He’s infamous for not having lost even a single debate before, and he plans on keeping it that way. He’s not required to debate during today’s class anyway—neither is Seungcheol; they’re both debating in the next session, in two days—but he’s content to watch and see who’s improving.

The present debate ends dully, immemorable as the instructor picks apart the arguments presented from both sides. A few of their classmates are cringing at the intensity of the critiques, but considering one of the parties didn’t have all of their citations in order when making their argument in the first place, Jeonghan doesn’t agree with them.

He turns back to his phone, texting Jisoo to see if he wants to get drinks after class, if he’s not bending over backwards to get Wonwoo to notice him. He pretends to not see the irony in his own actions, albeit however more subtle they are.

He only looks up again when Seungcheol nudges him, eyes widening when he sees the match up. Junhui walks up to the front of the room, in a black button up and bootcut slacks. Jeonghan has to nudge Seungcheol back just to make sure his best friend isn’t drooling, though he probably chokes on his own saliva when he sees who Junhui’s debating.

The point of mock debate is to practice their skills, to hone in on their ability to argue their case while fully supporting it with evidence. Rarely are the cases related to actual laws, often comical and clearly fictional. Their instructor likes to save the more serious topics for those of them that are already good at arguing, just to get them to focus on now developing those same arguments in context.

Seungcheol has been sulking about having to argue about aliens and games for his past two mock debates while Jeonghan was given a law-related topic last week and another similar topic this week. Jeonghan thinks he’s going to reach new levels of sulkiness over a first year beating him to it.

Junhui’s straightforward as always, taking a unique angle to the question. “Culturally, we respect our elders. If these elders are the ones to commit the crimes, that doesn’t mean we should deny all elders respect. But to release them early is to acknowledge that a longer sentence would be a poor punishment when there’s no guarantee they will live to serve it.”

There are… merits to that argument. Jeonghan sees why Junhui would make it—their instructor is an elderly woman, after all, so it’s a safe bet to make. The opposition has a stronger argument, but it’s more of a risk to make it.

“Of course, no one’s saying deny them their respect. But to release them early is to give them a special privilege based on their age. How would you determine how old is old enough to be considered an elder? As the life expectancy increases, the age you become old at increases too. And it varies between men and women. Does that mean the law would include these separations? Would it apply to the most serious crimes too?”

Junhui nods thoughtfully. “The average age of someone committing those serious crimes is lower, since the data skews to the right. Murderers, for example, are usually younger and when they’re caught, they’ll serve out their full sentence. A law that accounts for these separations would be the best, since it accounts for the nuance that you mention.”

Mingyu tilts his head, crossing his arms over his chest and smirking. His muscles are straining against his burgundy pullover, something Jeonghan does not notice. He’ll lose a point for that—arrogance isn’t commended by lawyers, despite being a defining trait in all that Jeonghan has met. “What about people with terminal illnesses? They’re not guaranteed to live out their full sentence either, are they? Could you not argue that they would be just as deserving of a pardon, if not more, because of the argument that desperation may have fueled their crimes?”

Jeonghan hums curiously. Junhui is always methodical, accounting for every possibility. It’s almost like Jeonghan can see the moment each counter argument sparks in Mingyu, his eyes sparkling when Junhui takes a second longer to answer.

“That is also something to be considered.” He’s conceding again. Seungcheol looks devastated and Jeonghan is sure he looks the same, likely for different reasons. Mingyu runs a hand through his hair as Junhui frowns. “That’s only one end of the spectrum. Would it not be wrong to also lower the age of criminal punishment? A child who intentionally murders someone should also be held accountable for their crimes. This leeway is not granted on the basis of someone elder being allowed to commit the crime, but acknowledging that even a life sentence isn’t enough.”

Mingyu snorts, leaning back slightly. “That’s something I can agree with you on, but the primary argument here is that elders should be given early release. Would you still stand by this argument if the average age of a criminal was higher? If more and more criminals started waiting until they passed the threshold to commit their crime, and then live out the remainder of their days knowing that they’ll be given early release?”

Jeonghan can’t quite help the scoff that escapes him. That’s a nonsense argument at best. He claps a hand over his mouth immediately, lips parting slightly behind it when Mingyu turns his way, eyes widening when he sees Jeonghan.

He looks younger, standing tall at the base of the amphitheater shaped classroom. The lighting does no favors for anyone, but he somehow manages to make it look decent, all tan and golden and full of himself.

“That’s assuming the future rather than addressing the present,” Junhui finishes smoothly. “The statistics don’t support your assumptions—the incidents of children in the schools are much worse. We have been arguing a moot point, the true focus could be determining proper release by crime severity. But when considering whether an elder in society should be punished the same way as someone younger, there is much to think about.”

Mingyu’s conclusion is shorter. “The answer should be no. We uphold justice equally, with no favorites based on who we are taught to respect. If it was respect they sought, the crime should not have been committed.”

He’s wrong about the source of Seungcheol’s distress, because he breaks into a smile the second the instructor dismisses them, throwing himself against Mingyu’s side and ruffling his hair. “Yah, Kim Mingyu!”

Jeonghan watches as Mingyu looks away shyly, gaze seeking out his own. His lips part slightly in surprise, glancing between an elated Seungcheol and a shy Mingyu before he tucks his hands in his pockets. “You’re not bad at this.”

“You sound surprised.”

Seungcheol groans in the background, but Mingyu’s hand comes up around his shoulders and he tucks him into his side, so he can’t be too upset. The world narrows in after that, the background fading into the static. He’s still looking at Jeonghan though, expectant and eager. Jeonghan can’t help but shrug.

That’s more of a concession than he would have liked it to be.

When Mingyu walks home after a late dinner with Soonyoung and Minghao to find Joshua and Wonwoo curled up on the sofa watching some god awful American romance film, he books it out of his own apartment, only thinking of grabbing his basketball at the last minute. Neither Joshua nor Wonwoo notice when he stumbles into the closet door, too absorbed in the film—or, more likely, each other—to realize.

He’s still thinking about the appraising look Jeonghan had given him in their debate class, like he was seeing Mingyu for the first time. Like he hadn’t expected Mingyu to be good at debate? No, not quite that. But he did seem surprised at Mingyu’s prowess in the subject.

He hobbles down to the basketball courts, dribbling absentmindedly while he scrolls through his phone to find something to listen to. A notification from Seungcheol pops up, something about Seokmin being over for the night so Mingyu can’t be there because then they get too distracted with their bickering to pay Seungcheol any attention.

How cute of his hyung to abandon him in his time of need.

Then again, Seungcheol has a roommate, so Mingyu gets a momentary respite from sulking over his own situation to feel pleased at Jeonghan’s inconvenience.

He sets his phone down on the side, dribbling twice at the free throw line before tossing the ball up. It bounces off the backboard but still makes it through the net. He could probably refine that to skip the backboard entirely. It’s not like he doesn’t have the time for it now.

Ten minutes to eleven, he’s perfected his free throw only for the universe to send the devil his way in the form of Jeonghan swinging his keys around his finger as he pushes open the door to the basketball court.

“Oh?” Jeonghan raises an eyebrow.

Mingyu picks the basketball up, bouncing it over. “What are you doing here?”

He catches it. “Did Seungcheol not tell you?”

“Ah, him and Seokminnie.” Actually, Seungcheol had even admitted that Mingyu would’ve been a better choice, but it would’ve been harder to actually go through with.

Mingyu did wonder if it was about Wonwoo, or if it was just Seungcheol still trying to figure his own feelings out.

“So he did tell you.” Jeonghan bounces the basketball twice, glancing at the basketball hoop once, though he doesn’t make a move for it.

Yet. Mingyu knows he won’t let the opportunity slide like that.

“I mean yeah, he’s sleeping with my best friend, of course he told me,” is all Mingyu can think to say. He doesn’t get it—whatever Seungcheol is trying to figure out—because Seungcheol hasn’t told him.

He has his own assumptions, but he hasn’t had a chance to bring them up with him yet.

Jeonghan just hums. “Well. Obviously I didn’t want to have to hear all that.”

Mingyu has a sudden, sneaking suspicion. Did Jeonghan like Seungcheol like that too? Or was the rejection before he realized that?

They still live together, so maybe not. Jeonghan doesn’t seem like the type to lead someone on and definitely doesn’t seem like the type of person to move in with someone they have feelings for.

Jeonghan takes advantage of his ponderings to dribble around him and score with a lay up. Mingyu doesn’t give his thoughts another second before he’s chasing after him. It pays off—he lands two three pointers in a row and keeps the lead from there.

He takes the win too, ten to Jeonghan’s seven.

Jeonghan doesn’t know what he’s doing here, at eleven at night no less. He raises an eyebrow, bouncing the basketball on the court once before catching it again.

“First to ten?”

All he knows is that Seungcheol and Seokmin are together and likely living out Seungcheol’s fantasies of being manhandled and Jeonghan doesn’t want to hear that. He hadn’t expected to run into anyone when he walked down to the basketball courts, only to stumble upon Mingyu practicing his free throws.

He checks the ball. “Make it seventeen.”

Mingyu shrugs, running a hand through his hair. It’s slightly longer now, bangs overgrown, not quite dripping with sweat yet but surely not dry either. He’s up three points now, nine to Jeonghan’s six, just like he had been in their first game, though Jeonghan easily won the second round.

It won’t last long. Jeonghan steals the ball from him before he can even get a chance to score, nearly evening out the score with two points to eight. Mingyu gets a three pointer in immediately after, much to his disappointment, and he rides that momentum through until he’s at thirteen and Jeonghan’s barely scraped his way up to nine.

Mingyu grins, slanted. “It wouldn’t be any fun if I won that easily, would it?”

His breath catches when their hands brush. He has to look up to meet Mingyu’s eyes and he’s not sure what to make of the flicker of heat passing between them. He shoots, adds two points to his tally, and quickly pulls back, pretending to wipe the sweat from his brow before Mingyu notices his gaze lingering for a second too long.

“Maybe I’m just letting you win,” Jeonghan retorts, adding three more points to his score. “Fourteen to thirteen. Think you can keep up?”

He knows Mingyu can. Those muscles are, unfortunately, not for show. He’s already outpaced Jeonghan, who is tired but not quite ready to give in.

That, and he’s pretty sure his roommate is still wrestling with Seokmin as some freaky kind of foreplay that apparently, Mingyu already turned Seungcheol down for. That’s the first and last time Jeonghan will take Mingyu’s side. Jeonghan’s more than happy to not be involved in that, even if it means spending time with him.

Especially when he hasn’t been able to get Mingyu’s shy smile out of his head since their debate class last week.

He’s not even sure when Mingyu’s number joined his contact list, only that he doesn’t mind as much as he thought he would. They don’t have a private chat or anything, but Seungcheol made a group chat with all three of them in it and he shares memes there sometimes. Mingyu doesn’t share his sense of humor and Jeonghan has no interest in encouraging either of their thirst traps, so the chat remains relatively quiet.

Mingyu adds two to his total, swinging a little too close to Jeonghan to take the shot. “Careful, Jeonghan-ssi, you’re starting to look distracted.”

Never mind that this is supposed to be the distraction. “Aren’t you the one who cares a little too much about this?”

Mingyu narrows his eyes suspiciously, leaning in slightly. “You’re the one who joined me. You just don’t like being outplayed.”

That he doesn’t. He scoffs anyway, crossing his arms. “Please, I’m just here because I hate losing. That’s all.”

The night breeze is cool against his skin, nice after sweating through a full game. Mingyu steps closer anyway, like he thinks Jeonghan is going to shiver and demand his jacket as a prize for winning. The thought to offer his own before that has crossed his mind, but…

Mingyu takes another step closer. “Hmm?”

Jeonghan bites the inside of his cheek, taking care to keep his gaze trained on the floor. When Mingyu moves slightly, he smacks the basketball from his grip, darting around him to the three point line.

It’s a perfect shot, nothing but net and the soundtrack of Mingyu’s losing groan.

“Yah, that’s cheating!”

Jeonghan smirks, crossing his arms and catching the rebounding ball. “Oh? Wasn’t someone saying I looked distracted?”

They’ve already played three rounds now, with Mingyu taking the win on the first and Jeonghan taking the win on the next two. That’s just tonight’s basketball though. Mingyu gets an additional two points for their team scrimmage win and their basketball game last month, bringing him to three total. Jeonghan adds another point to his total for that first goal he scored on Mingyu, bringing him up to three.

Mingyu scowls, then pouts. “Rematch?”

It’s less fun to count their team wins, or the games they played as a group. That brings Mingyu back down to one and Jeonghan up to two.

Jeonghan laughs, loud and hacking, like it’s surprised him that Mingyu would even suggest it. Of course he would, he’s always so obvious. He bounces the basketball to Mingyu, already halfway to the gate.

“Pass!”

Mingyu dribbles around the edge, an arm up to block his guard, and spins on his left heel. He sinks a three pointer in seconds before the timer goes off, leveling the score off at twenty points.

For a ten minute scrimmage, it might be a new record. Seungkwan’s really good at basketball, even if he might not seem like it at first glance.

It makes his loss against Jeonghan last week even more upsetting.

“Mingyu hyung,” he calls out, leaning over with his hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath.

“This is like, the third time this week you’ve asked to play basketball. Are you quitting the soccer club or something?”

Mingyu laughs from where he’s sprawled out on the floor, limbs starfished out. “I guess you guys could finally win the championship, then.”

Seungkwan snorts. “Jeonghan hyung might kill you if you do that.”

He sits up, pushing his sleeves up over his shoulders. “Huh? Wouldn’t he be happy to win?”

“I don’t think he cares about winning as much as he cares about beating you guys, sometimes,”

Seungkwan says absentmindedly. “He’d definitely be upset if we won just because your team no longer qualifies to participate.”

Mingyu scoffs, but elects to stay quiet. “He won last year, didn’t he?”

Seungkwan nods, offering him a water bottle. Mingyu takes it with a quiet thanks. “Yeah, it came down to him and Seungcheol hyung, apparently. Is hyung still upset about that?”

Mingyu snorts, nearly choking on his water. “Upset is one way to put it. You know Seungcheol hyung, he hates losing. I think he’s convinced that we’re practically guaranteed the win this year.”

Seungkwan chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, he should be careful. Jeonghan hyung’s been practicing like crazy. I wouldn’t count us out just yet.”

“Don’t count us out yet either,” he retorts. “Seungcheol hyung isn’t the only one who wants to win.”

Seungkwan smirks. “Oh, I know. You and Jeonghan hyung are so much worse.”

Mingyu finishes his water, lifting his shirt up to wipe the sweat off his face and his neck. Seungkwan makes a face, leaning down to pinch his side. He squirms away, whining.

“He’s way worse than I am,” he says, like a liar who isn’t self aware at all. He knows exactly how bad he is. He’s been reserving extra slots in the field and running Seungkwan ragged on the basketball court all week.

For some reason, Seungkwan doesn’t believe him. He raises an eyebrow, a knowing smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. Mingyu hates that one. “You’re pretty obsessed with him, aren’t you?”

He startles upright. “I’m what.”

Seungkwan tilts his head, eyes narrowing as he dives in for the kill. “I’m just saying, you think about him a lot, Kim Mingyu.”

Mingyu’s jaw tightens and he looks away, glaring at his shoes. “You’re imagining things, Boo Seungkwan.”

He loses the next game by ten points. Seungkwan is a monster when it comes to basketball. He’s something else entirely when he’s properly motivated to humiliate Mingyu, apparently, because Jeonghan stops by just as Seungkwan sinks his final three pointer in, sealing his victory.

“Who’s winning?” Jeonghan calls out, not bothering to look up from where he’s scrolling on his phone.

Mingyu scowls, bouncing the ball a little harder on the court than he means to.

“Not him!” Seungkwan sings happily, taking the fresh bottle of orange juice from Jeonghan.

Or, he tries. “We each won one!”

Mingyu snatches it first, uncapping it with the intent of making meaningful eye contact with Seungkwan before downing the entire bottle, to assert his dominance or something, because he and Seungkwan might both be first years but he’s still Mingyu’s dongsaeng, even if he never acts like it.

Jeonghan’s thin fingers encircle his wrist first, not gripping tightly enough to hurt, but not loose enough to immediately shake him off either. He still doesn’t bother looking up from his phone when he responds to Seungkwan. It’s starting to piss Mingyu off a little for some reason. “Of course not. He didn’t win last time either.”

Seungkwan gives him a confused look, and that’s when Mingyu notices that Jeonghan freezes, wide eyes darting to Mingyu all panicked. It’s almost cute.

He and Seungcheol won the last time they all got together to play as a group. Which means Jeonghan didn’t tell Seungkwan. Mingyu doesn’t know why that sends a thrill through him, but it’s just basketball. It doesn’t really matter, though even as just a thought, that doesn’t encapsulate it either.

All Mingyu can do is stare back, hopelessly trapped in his gaze, keenly aware of Jeonghan’s cool fingers against his feverish skin.

“Wow, did you want something from him so badly?” Seungkwan snatches the bottle back, entirely unaware of Jeonghan’s internal struggle.

Jeonghan drops his hand from Mingyu’s wrist like he’s been burned, his gace carefully neutral as he returns to his phone once more.

Mingyu scowls. “No.”

The mock debate marks a change. After Mingyu’s strong success in the first one, he’s paired up with Jeonghan for nearly the rest of the semester, going toe to toe on even the most complicated of cases. Mingyu suggests that they practice together once, and he looks equally surprised when Jeonghan takes him up on it.

It ends in a screaming match, with both of them storming out and not talking to each other until their next debate, which gets intense enough for the instructor to cut them both off and start giving them nonsense topics to debate instead, so they don’t get like that again.

Jeonghan doesn’t have it in him to be embarrassed about it either, not when Mingyu shares a mutually giddy look with him as they walk back to their seats. He looks a little more chastised when Seungcheol complains that they’re taking things too far, but it doesn’t stop him from nudging Jeonghan’s foot under their desks.

That’s not the turning point though. There’s a private chat now, with just him and Mingyu in it. And instead of Mingyu sending him a time to meet to go over their debate case, Jeonghan can just send him a picture of the basketball court. Or the soccer field.

Mingyu meets him there every time. Jeonghan thinks it doesn’t mean anything, that it’s just his good judgement when it comes to picking a time—after class, or later at night, or on a Friday night.

Sometimes, it’s the other way around, which is how Jeonghan unwillingly imparts to his roommate that Wonwoo has been oblivious to Jisoo advances for longer than they’ve been roommates. He knows he goes quiet when he mentions it because Mingyu points it out, but Jeonghan also knows he’s not alone in that quiet discomfort. He’s not as squeamish about Wonwoo as Jeonghan gets about Jisoo, even though he’s been trying to get over him for far longer.

Volleyball court. Seungkwannie has too much energy.

True to his word, Seungkwan is practically bouncing off the walls of the volleyball court. Jeonghan’s slumped on the floor across from him on the other side of the net, running a hand through his sweaty hair with one hand and scrolling through his phone with the other. He looks up when the gate unlatches, blinking when Mingyu waves his phone.

“Mingyu hyung!” Seungkwan calls out, thrilled, yet still surprised to see him. Mingyu gives him a look, to which Jeonghan just shrugs. He didn’t have to tell Seungkwan everything. It would be harder to explain, anyway.

Mingyu smiles back. Seungkwan’s so cute when he’s so excited. “Hi Seungkwannie!”

“Are you switching out with me?”

Jeonghan cries out indignantly, scrambling to his feet and pointing his phone threateningly at Seungkwan. Or Mingyu. They’re both standing next to each other, so it could really be either of them.

“What do you mean, is he switching out with you?”

Mingyu blinks. “I can switch out with Seungkwannie.”

The phone turns on him. “No, you can not. I’m tired, and he won’t stop playing. You’re switching with me.”

Mingyu shrugs like it doesn’t matter either way. Seungkwan’s probably better at volleyball than him anyway, but he doesn’t mind playing around for a bit if he’s shown up.

Jeonghan cackles when his first serve misses the net, giving Seungkwan the first point lead over him.

He goes quiet when Mingyu hardly has to leap up to spike.

Has he always been that much taller than Jeonghan? He’s towering over Seungkwan, and there isn’t even that big of a height difference between the two of them. He’s unfortunately good at volleyball too, though he clearly had the same idea about Seungkwan, who ends up sending him running every time he hits the ball out of the court.

As it turns out, Seungkwan is not, in fact, better than him at volleyball. He may like it more—he definitely watches it more often than anyone else and Jeonghan thinks it's safe to include Mingyu in that—but he rarely hits the ball within the court boundaries.

“Seungkwan-ah!” Mingyu cries out, when he has to run after the ball for the fifteenth time. “Why are you so bad at this?”

From the sidelines, Jeonghan snorts, setting his phone down and standing up. “It’s not like you’re all that good either.”

Which is a lie, but he doesn’t need Mingyu getting an ego about this. So he’s good at volleyball, big deal. Jeonghan’s probably better. The sun isn’t beating down as hard as it normally would for six in the evening, but it’s still bright; there’s a glare bouncing off Jeonghan’s phone and hitting Mingyu in the face now that Jeonghan is standing up.

“Yah, it’s not like you can tell how good I am if he keeps hitting it out of bounds every time! I’m sure you’re not all that good either.”

He doesn’t sit back down, crossing his arms and tilting his head slightly.

“Seungkwan-ah,” he drawls, holding his hands out for the ball. Seungkwan tosses it to him guilelessly, none the wiser to what Jeonghan is clearly planning.

He serves the ball over the net, and it lands within the boundaries of the court. Which is one step better than Seungkwan managed, but Mingyu still has more of an advantage. He’s taller, and while that might not necessarily make him better at soccer, it does make him better at volleyball.

Also, he’s distracting. He’s all tan and tall and glowy when the sun hits him at the right angle. It’s starting to piss Jeonghan off a little bit, actually, does the guy aim to be perfect or something?

He bumps it back while Seungkwan sits down on the sidelines. Seungkwan might be complaining about how annoying it is that they’re both good at volleyball too, and he doesn’t stop muttering in the background.

Jeonghan sets it back over the net.

“Wah, Yoon Jeonghan, you’re working so hard!” Seungkwan enthuses, right as Mingyu spikes it over the net and scores a point.

Jeonghan scowls, wheeling on Seungkwan, the traitor. “Yah, Seungkwan-ah!”

Seungkwan mimes zipping his lips and continues to provide commentary in the background. Mingyu can’t quite tune him out as easily as Jeonghan does, startling when he yells too loudly or cheers for

Jeonghan.

Good.

Across the net, Jeonghan curses when he misses another easy point, glaring at Mingyu like it’s his fault. Mingyu takes it from there, calling the match point at twenty one to Jeonghan’s seventeen.

If Jeonghan’s counting just their wins, then they’re tied now, four to four. If he counts it overall, he’s up one, six to Jeonghan’s five.

They have another debate next week too, so that’s a perfect opportunity for Jeonghan to try and catch up and for Mingyu to not.

He’s embarrassed that it’s just past nine when he notices that Seungkwan left earlier. They played three separate games—which Mingyu won all of—and his phone is dead so he has no choice but to ask. “Oh, when did Seungkwannie leave?”

Mingyu looks up from his phone, his gaze lingering on Jeonghan’s profile. He’s not looking at Mingyu but at the other side of the court, where Seungkwan had been sitting. “Around sunset?”

Jeonghan’s eyes widen, gaze snapping to lock onto Mingyu’s. “Two hours ago?”

Mingyu nods, lifting his shirt up and wiping the sweat from his face. It’s careless, like he hasn’t put thought into it, but now Jeonghan knows he has abs to match his stupid biceps. He probably goes to the gym in his free time too. Jeonghan’s breath catches and he holds it to keep from saying something stupid. His gaze lingers just a moment too long even after Mingyu drops his shirt, cheeks flushed.

That’s even more embarrassing.

He quickly looks away, fidgeting with the volleyball as if it’s the most fascinating thing in the world while Mingyu rereads his messages. He looks up again. “Is Seungcheol hyung home for the night?”

“He should be.” Jeonghan pauses, bouncing the volleyball once before catching it again. “Whatever he and Seokminnie wanted to try was a one time thing, so he shouldn’t have anyone over. Why?”

“Shua hyung’s staying over,” he mutters, chewing on the tip of his nail. Jeonghan makes a noise of—sympathy? He’s not sure if it’s that, but he can at least relate. This is the longest civil conversation they’ve had outside of their games or debate, so maybe that’s why.

He knows Mingyu isn’t oblivious to his reactions to any developments between Jisoo and Wonwoo either, but he’s never really asked. Jeonghan’s glad for that, because he’s not sure what he would even say.

“Seungcheollie won’t care if you stay over if you cook for him,” Jeonghan says instead, except from where Mingyu’s standing, it probably sounds a whole lot like Jeonghan won’t care if he stays over if he cooks for him.

Mingyu raises an eyebrow, clearly catching on. “Seungcheol won’t care or you won’t care?”

Jeonghan shrugs all innocently and then says nothing, like this is a perfectly normal conversation between two acquaintances and not at all between two people who’ve chased each other around a soccer field, fought in a library, spent way too long in a volleyball court, and irritated each other over basketball.

They might need new hobbies, come to think of it.

There’s finally a new use for that group chat Seungcheol made all those weeks ago, and he reads the message Mingyu sends almost immediately.

And then he proceeds to send Mingyu a detailed dinner menu he would like to eat. Jeonghan bursts out laughing from where he’s reading over Mingyu’s shoulder, his hair brushing against his arm.

Mingyu’s warm. That shouldn’t be a novel realization, not when they’ve been playing for over three hours now, but it feels like one.

Also his disbelieving whine sounds a little—well, it doesn’t sound bad. Which is a little irritating because Jeonghan can’t stand to think otherwise.

He’s still laughing, because he takes great pleasure in Mingyu’s small miseries.

“Does he want a kitchen romance or something? What the hell is this?”

Jeonghan straightens up, metaphorical bunny ears perking up. He’s locked onto it perfectly. “Oh?

Does Seungcheollie think you’re into that?”

Mingyu makes a face, and Jeonghan expects him to argue back.

“Are you into that?”

He should stop expecting things. He stares at Mingyu a moment too long, open mouthed in either shock or horror, though less horror because Mingyu’s a good cook.

Jeonghan frowns, fidgeting with his sleeve. Mingyu sounds too sincere for him to shoot down so easily. It’s less fun if he won’t play along. “I’m not the best at cooking, I guess. Seungcheollie and I order in more often than not.”

Mingyu just nods once and goes quiet. Jeonghan doesn’t bring it up again, leading them back to his apartment in silence.

What a strange guy. He’s totally different from that first day on the soccer field, but just as unintentionally clumsy. Jeonghan doesn’t particularly know what to do with him. He doesn’t quite get flustered, but he’s quick to bluster. He’s well built and strong and yet he gets almost shy at times.

Jeonghan, of course, is unwilling to admit what kind of an effect he has on him. So what if Mingyu is strong and has abs and could probably carry Jeonghan? That’s none of his business.

All that matters is that he keeps losing to Jeonghan.

Jeonghan and Seungcheol ordering in more often than they eat home cooked meals is a fat lie that Mingyu will not be calling him out on because he’s afraid of what nonsense his tongue will bypass his brain to unleash. He ends up cooking in their apartment more often than in his own these days, and Seungcheol’s mom would worry if he didn’t remind her that her precious baby—Seungcheol—is eating well.

Also, he stress-cooks. Jeonghan stresses him out. So he cooks. And then he ends up cooking in Jeonghan’s apartment, so he cooks some more.

He can’t exactly tell Jeonghan that when he tells Mingyu that he doesn’t have to cook all that for Seungcheol—which Mingyu already knows, thank you very much, but Seungcheol also knows that he has a stress cooking problem—so he settles for tripping over a bush and nearly face planting into Seungcheol and Jeonghan’s door. Jeonghan doesn’t even bother trying to muffle his laugh, though he does help right Mingyu with a hand on his hip.

Mingyu burns. He’s developed a fever from playing so much volleyball. He needs to be put down like the dog Minghao likens him to. Or like a horse with a broken leg. Maybe he has a concussion from his recent intimate encounter with that bush.

God, he misses Minghao. He can’t wait for him to get back from that dance competition. He’ll even put up with Soonyoung’s obnoxious fashion choices if it means he doesn’t keep finding himself in these kinds of situations.

Jeonghan still hasn’t moved his hand. Mingyu goes artificially still, unsure if he wants Jeonghan to let go or to not let go. He’s gripping Mingyu a little tighter to maintain his balance while he unties his shoes, before kicking them into the closet.

Just. Directly kicking them in there. With no regard for the shoe rack that Mingyu’s pretty sure he heard Seungcheol and Junhui spent two hours building. When he looks inside the closet, his shoes are the only shoes that are a full pair on the rack. The rest of it is filled with one odd shoe or the other, but not a single perfect pair.

Mingyu doesn’t even end up having to cook—apparently Seungcheol’s ordered enough food for all of them to eat, and he doesn’t even pester Mingyu about it as much as he usually would. He just drapes himself across Mingyu’s back while Mingyu cuts the kimchi.

Mingyu is keenly aware that Jeonghan’s just watching them from the dining table, not saying anything, but not looking away either. He can’t read his expression, just that there’s something almost wistful there.

Which, if you think about it, is likely a ploy to get Mingyu to let his guard down so he can win the next debate. Which Mingyu will be winning.

Seungcheol sways when Mingyu stirs the kimchi jjigae, and Jeonghan bumps his elbow into the table, muttering an excuse about going to change before disappearing down the hallway. Mingyu’s almost grateful for it until he realizes that Seungcheol definitely has questions about why the two of them showed up here together.

“So,” Seungcheol drawls, digging his chin into the meat of Mingyu’s shoulder. Mingyu flexes, wincing when Seungcheol just jabs his chin down further. It’s better than when he used to bite, at least.

Seriously, what kind of little brother is Seungcheol? Isn’t he supposed to be two years older than him?

Why does Mingyu remember him biting his shoulder like a teething child?

Mingyu hums noncommittally, waiting for the inevitable. He sets down the pot and drags Seungcheol over to the sink.

“You and Jeonghannie,” Seungcheol continues, slowly because he enjoys drawing things out and likes drama just about as much as Seungkwan, even if he’ll vehemently deny it. Mingyu wonders if he could get away with accidentally switching the spray on the sink and then spraying Seungcheol in the face, or if his hyung would suspect foul play. “Hanging out together. Without monopolizing the volleyball courts.”

Actually, they might have done that. He doesn’t know when Jeonghan and Seungkwan got there versus when Jeonghan texted him, but he and Jeonghan were there for at least two hours after Seungkwan left.

“I’m good at volleyball,” Mingyu preens, which has nothing to do with the question Seungcheol is undoubtedly trying to ask.

Seungcheol bites his shoulder. Mingyu whines, squirming around. “Ah, hyung, that hurts, what’s wrong with you!”

It’s also just his luck that Jeonghan turns the corner and reappears in the kitchen at that exact moment, eyes wide at the scene in front of him. “Should I come back later?”

Seungcheol giggles, like the teething bastard he is. Mingyu lets the sink nozzle turn to the side and sprays him. He’s always been clumsy anyway, so he’ll get a pass.

He does not get a pass. Seungcheol puts him in a headlock despite their height difference and audience. Jeonghan snorts, though he doesn’t say anything as Mingyu whines and whimpers about

Seungcheol’s strength like he isn’t equally strong. “Ah, hyung, you’re so unfair—ow!”

Mingyu squirms around, hooking his leg behind Seungcheol’s—a mistake, because he’s forgotten that Seungcheol took two jiu jitsu classes—and shoving him off. Jeonghan laughs when Seungcheol complains about Mingyu being heavy, but otherwise, he stays quiet, leaning against the doorway between the front door and the foyer. “Yah, Mingyu-ah, you’re heavy!”

“You started it!” Mingyu retorts, spinning around, tripping over Seungcheol’s foot, and slamming his hip into the counter. He jerks away from Seungcheol in the process, though he careens into Jeonghan next, leaving him to catch Mingyu with hands at his waist once more.

Seungcheol just cackles against the sink, though he nearly topples over himself. Mingyu’s face burns as he rights himself, not wanting to look back and see Jeonghan’s expression.

For whatever reason, Jeonghan doesn’t let him go immediately. He taps his fingers against Mingyu’s sides like an amateur playing the piano, thumbs faint against the small of his back.

Mingyu’s breath hitches, his pulse racing at the faintest hint of Jeonghan’s breath against the nape of his neck. Jeonghan’s fingers linger just a little too long, his palms warm against his side. His heart skips a beat at their close proximity, how Jeonghan lingers just a breath behind him.

He glances over his shoulder to find Jeonghan’s eyes flashing with something unreadable—it’s not quite amusement like Mingyu expected, but it’s not confusion or curiosity either, something warmer. Jeonghan’s fingers press just a little more firmly, his gaze lingering a moment too long until Mingyu’s left wondering why his heart has decided to skip a beat.

It appears he’s decided to develop arrhythmia along with his concussion.

When it becomes clear that Jeonghan won’t be the first to speak, Mingyu clears his throat, but his voice still cracks a little when he starts, “You’re—”

Jeonghan finally releases him with an almost reluctant sigh, stepping back even if he can hardly keep his eyes away from Mingyu’s. His cheeks are subtly pink—like they had been at the volleyball court—and Mingyu catches a glimpse of his undisguised flush when he quickly steps around Mingyu. He half-wonders if Jeonghan notices the way he stumbles when he brings the food to the table—if he’s just messing with him, or if this is something new neither of them quite knows how to handle.

Seungcheol remains blissfully oblivious to the entire situation, still clutching his hip and complaining that Mingyu’s trying to take him out so he can take over as the soccer captain. He sits down at the table, passing out the silverware while Mingyu serves their food. Jeonghan’s ears are just a shade redder when he takes the bowl from Mingyu with a quiet thanks, avoiding his gaze.

“You’re welcome, Jeonghan-ssi.”

Seungcheol gives him a curious look for it, though he crumples a second later after a muffled thump, like Jeonghan kicked him under the table or something. Mingyu wishes he kicked him under the table too when Seungcheol betrays him some more by pointing at him with his spoon. “You don’t call him hyung yet?”

Actually, he doesn’t really call Jeonghan anything. They don’t talk to each other—today is probably the most they’ve seen each other in a setting where they’re not trying to one-up each other in some kind of sport.

Mingyu glances at Jeonghan, who just stares back at him with innocently wide eyes. He scratches the back of his neck sheepishly and shrugs. “Ah, I guess not?”

“Yah, Yoon Jeonghan,” Seungcheol starts, and there’s another muffled thump.

Jeonghan glares at Seungcheol. “What.”

“He’s my favorite,” he whines, and continues before Jeonghan can protest, turning to Mingyu as he does. “And he’s my first love, can’t you guys get along?”

“Weren’t you in love with Jihoon hyung in high school?” Mingyu retorts, and Jeonghan snorts, quickly covering up the laugh with the back of his hand when Seungcheol pouts.

“I was young,” Seungcheol says. “Jeonghannie rejected me. Jihoonie did not.”

Actually, Seungcheol had decided he would be Jihoon’s first kiss and then they never ended up dating, so it’s not like it went anywhere either. Which is neither here nor there, so Mingyu doesn’t need to think about all of that.

Jeonghan leans over, batting his lashes at Seungcheol. “And? What about Junhui?”

Mingyu tilts his head. “Junhui? What about Seokminnie? Weren’t you trying to get him to manhandle—”

“Okay!” Seungcheol cries out, face nearly bright red. “Fine. Whatever. None of you are this full of love—do not bring up Seokminnie, he already thinks I’m pathetic—so you wouldn’t get it.”

Mingyu giggles, and it’s only natural that he catches Jeonghan’s eye and they both burst out laughing while Seungcheol continues protesting. Mingyu leans over when he can sense Seungcheol starting to truly sulk, palms against his cheeks as he squishes his face in his hands.

“Ah, Seungcheollie, aigoo, how cute,” Mingyu says, pinching his cheeks until Seungcheol’s pout turns into a smile, until they’re both falling over each other and laughing. Seungcheol doesn’t even protest the lack of formalities.

Jeonghan just watches, a faint hint of a smile playing at his lips.

Seungcheol settles comfortably against Mingyu’s side. “Do you want a beer?”

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow, drumming his fingers on the table. “Do we have any left?”

He gets up to check before Seungcheol can answer, sliding three cans across the table. Mingyu catches the faintest flicker of Jeonghan’s gaze lingering a little longer than before, just watching. Mingyu’s stomach flips unexpectedly—probably because he’s developing indigestion from his own cooking. A byproduct of stress cooking, maybe. That’s reasonable, isn’t it?

Plus, Jeonghan’s gaze is unexpectedly intense in this quiet unreadable way. Like he knows Mingyu’s been stress cooking because of him.

That doesn’t explain why his cheeks are still pink or why he quickly turns away when their hands brush over the cans. Mingyu is still thinking about it while trying—and failing—to open the can without spraying the drink over him.

It doesn’t help that Seungcheol gets his can open first and leans back against Mingyu, making himself comfortable like an oversized raccoon.

Mingyu makes a face at the overly flat taste of the beer. His mind keeps circling back to Jeonghan, practically leaning against his side while they read his messages, the way his eyes flicked away just when Mingyu thought he might say something, the way his fingers had lingered on his waist.

“You’re not cooking tomorrow, right?”

Mingyu wonders if he can get away with suplexing Seungcheol over his sofa. His hyung is getting a little brave now, with all these comments. Never mind that he probably would have wanted to cook tomorrow, now he really doesn’t want to give Seungcheol that satisfaction.

“Ah, well…” Mingyu trails off, helplessly looking around the room, but all he keeps landing on is Jeonghan, looking at him innocently. He takes a sip of the beer, making a face at the taste. When did Seungcheol and Jeonghan pick this pack up? “Probably not.”

Jeonghan tilts his head. “Why not?”

He can hear the smirk in Seungcheol’s voice. “It’s a mystery really.”

So Seungcheol has chosen to die today. And Mingyu is going to get away with it because he’s bigger person—he’s been going to the gym more and he’s been more active because of all this sports nonsense with Jeonghan. He’s not going to lose.

Mingyu jabs his elbow into his solar plexus, grinning happily when Seungcheol yips and jerks up. He makes the mistake of looking up and nearly chokes on his beer, trying to keep his composure but the teasing glint in Jeonghan’s eyes makes his stomach flutter in a way that’s so unnecessary—especially when he’s already struggling with indigestion and that concussion from before—but impossible to ignore. He’s starting to realize that maybe, just maybe, they might actually kind of be friends.

What an awful realization to have when he’s already struggling with indigestion. Is Jeonghan trying to take out his entire digestive system?

His terrible luck takes a turn for the better when Jeonghan loses their game of rock, paper, scissors to decide who cleans the dishes, so he leaves Jeonghan in the kitchen and follows Seungcheol to his room to shower and borrow clothes.

Seungcheol is curled up under the sheets when Mingyu comes out, scrolling through his phone and attempting to flirt with Junhui, who’s either deliberately turning him down or entirely oblivious to his disarming flirtations, and to try and convince Seokmin—Mingyu’s not sure why exactly—that he’s not pathetic. Mingyu dries his hair with a towel and steps back into the kitchen with the intent of getting a glass of water. Jeonghan’s still finishing up the dishes, drying the last of the spoons before he steps back from the sink, nearly bumping into Mingyu behind him.

“Oh, sorry—”

Mingyu takes a step back into the other counter. “It’s fine—”

Jeonghan waves him off, waiting for him to step around before he takes the towel from the door handle. He takes too long to wipe his hands, almost like he’s waiting for Mingyu to finish his water.

“You can,” he says, just on the edge of being too quiet when Mingyu turns around.

Mingyu stares at him, blinking twice with his brows furrowed. “Huh?”

Jeonghan won’t meet his eyes when he says it, twisting his hands around the towel. “Call me hyung.”

Mingyu’s called people hyung much faster for far less. He’s good at talking to people and he’s one of the most extroverted people he knows—Seungkwan doesn’t count because he knows everyone and

Mingyu sometimes suspects that he knew everyone even before he started law school—but he’s speechless at Jeonghan’s quiet voice telling him to do so.

They’ve known each other for a few months now, played more than a few games of soccer, basketball, and volleyball against each other—or with each other, depending on how you look at it—and they have more than a few mutual friends, Seungcheol being the closest degree of separation of all. They’ve created many debacles during their debate classes, and have another one coming up in a few days.

Maybe he’s stayed quiet for a little too long though, because Jeonghan just shakes his head, ducking around him again. “I mean, you don’t have to, but—”

“Hyung,” Mingyu interrupts, before he can think too deeply about why he doesn’t like the way Jeonghan’s lips curl downwards.

Jeonghan stills, eyes wide as he stares at him.

Mingyu grins. “I don’t always use formalities with Seungcheollie though.” Here, Seungcheol makes a vague sound or protest from his bedroom, which would be embarrassing if there was anything strange happening, but there isn’t, so Mingyu feels very normal about this conversation. “But I can call you hyung, if you want. Sometimes. Jeonghan hyung.”

Jeonghan doesn’t laugh the way he expects him to, nor does he protest animatedly the way he had that day on the soccer field. No, he ducks his head as he bites down on his lower lip through a smile so sweet Mingyu now has a tooth ache on top of his ongoing indigestion. And the concussion. And whatever else he’s contracted tonight. His immune system has clearly given up on him.

“Sure, Mingyu-ah.”

Seungcheol barely drives them to class on time, taking the long way around to avoid traffic on the main road. Jeonghan provides zero input, content to sit in the passenger’s seat and study while Seungcheol drives circles around the parking lot.

“You’ve never studied this hard for debates before,” Seungcheol points out, cheering a little too loudly when he finally finds a spot. “Don’t you already have all your sources together and everything?”

Jeonghan doesn’t look up from his phone. “I’m not studying the debate topic.”

Seungcheol kills the ignition, reaching back for his bag. “Then?”

“It’s important to know the weaknesses in your opponent’s arguments,” is all Jeonghan says, because he would rather not admit to Seungcheol that he’s spent the weekend reviewing their debate class recordings and taking notes on Mingyu’s weaknesses as a debater. He’s infuriatingly good, meaning Jeonghan spent quite a while forwarding and rewinding just to pick up whatever he could.

Seungcheol snorts. “You’re both insane.”

Yeah, he hasn’t really been able to deny that one lately.

He’s confident in his own arguments, of course, but Mingyu’s not bad at what he does either. Jeonghan would be foolish to assume that this will be an easy win.

Mingyu isn’t dressed as neatly as he usually is, wearing a gray zip up hoodie over a pair of baggy jeans. Jeonghan’s come to the recent and unfortunate realization that he looks good in just about anything, and it’s ruining his life a little bit. It’s easier to find Mingyu annoyingly earnest when he’s drenched in sweat after chasing Jeonghan around the basketball court, or irritatingly smug when he’s dressed in business casual during a debate.

Jeonghan doesn’t know what to do with Mingyu, dressed casually, offering Seungcheol a sweet smile and coffee and that Seungcheol was complaining about not being able to get beforehand because of the traffic. He especially doesn’t know what to do with the second coffee that Mingyu offers him with a small, shy, smile.

“It’s not poisoned,” Mingyu insists, and Jeonghan bites back a remark about how no one would say even if it was.

Not that he thinks it is. Mingyu is frustratingly earnest, insistent on winning fairly even when Jeonghan thinks he’s opportune to bend the rules to his whims. He’s in the lead now anyway, so Jeonghan doesn’t have room to speak.

Jeonghan licks his lips and takes the cup from him unsurely. He doesn’t bother to drink from it yet though, not unlike Seungcheol, who practically chugs half of the cup immediately and thanks Mingyu profusely for it before dragging them both to their seats to wait for their debate. He and Mingyu are the last debate of the class, so they technically have time to continue reviewing, but Mingyu keeps fidgeting next to Seungcheol and he’s still unfortunately in Jeonghan’s peripheral vision.

Jeonghan leans over Seungcheol. “Are you that nervous about it?”

Mingyu straightens up with a scowl. “No!”

He’s just a tinge too loud. Seungcheol shoves Jeonghan back in his seat and shoves Mingyu back into his—when had he started reaching over his seat too?

“Shut up,” Seungcheol hisses, when a few of their classmates turn around to look.

Mingyu leans back over Seungcheol and, in a much quieter voice, repeats: “No! Why would I be nervous about a debate?” There’s a twinkle in his eye Jeonghan doesn’t like the look of. “Are you?”

Is that his standard response? Jeonghan feels a sense of deja vu when he thinks of the last time Mingyu asked him something like that. And then he decides that he maybe shouldn’t think about that because now all he can see is how shy Mingyu gets whenever Jeonghan looks at him when they’re not trying to one-up each other.

He takes too long to respond, because when he opens his mouth to speak, Mingyu and Seungcheol are both facing the podium at the front of the class again. He turns around too, spinning his pen between his fingers before giving the first debate of the class his full attention.

Okay, so half his attention. He’s still scrolling through his notes of Mingyu’s debate performance, trying to figure out where his casual outfit fits into that. There’s only one debate that he’s done where he’s dressed less formally, and it’s one where he ran in at the last minute, hair still mussed and button up shirt untucked.

It’s one of his best looks, but that’s neither here nor there, so Jeonghan doesn’t know why he’s made a note of that. It’s second best to him today, in a gray zip up hoodie, bootcut jeans, and loose chain necklace.

Not that Jeonghan is thinking about that right now. No, he’s focusing on the fact that Mingyu gets overconfident right before the last rebuttal and that he pouts every time someone makes a better argument than him.

Observing him in class also means that he gets to see what Mingyu takes notes on. He leans over Seungcheol slightly—subtly, because he doesn’t need Seungcheol complaining again—to catch a glimpse of what Mingyu keeps writing down in his notebook. There’s a few arguments that haven’t been mentioned yet, which he assumes must be what Mingyu comes up with on his own, a few arguments that have been mentioned, with annotations, but mostly just doodles. A flaming diamond, a cute little rabbit—Seungcheol has written his name by that one, but Jeonghan personally thinks his best friend resembles a raccoon more—and a cartoon-style potato.

Seungcheol somehow hears this thought though, because he’s pushing at Jeonghan again. “Can you do that some other time?”

“I’m strategizing,” Jeonghan says, leaning over further. Seungcheol grumbles about nothing for a second before he drops his chin onto Jeonghan’s back, nearly seconds from threatening to bite his shoulder.

Jeonghan doesn’t need to remember the last time Seungcheol did this to him. His brat of a best friend was tormenting Mingyu like this just a week ago. He clearly hasn’t outgrown his teething tendencies.

“Do not bite me,” he hisses.

Seungcheol grumbles some more, but clearly he’s developed a new liking for decorum, because he doesn’t bite Jeonghan. He does, however, nearly shove him out of his seat when he stands up, and steals Jeonghan’s seat so he has no choice but to sit where Seungcheol has just been sitting.

It’s when he sits down again—very grateful for his choice to sit in the back of the classroom where no one can see them playing musical chairs—that he turns to see Mingyu watching both of them with a distinctly unimpressed expression.

Like this isn’t his fault, for taking notes where Jeonghan could see. It’s not like Jeonghan’s thrilled about this turn of events either. In fact, he doesn’t even know what this debate is about because he caught sight of that rabbit.

“What?” He adds, because no one’s ever accused him of having too much audacity.

Mingyu just might, though. “The debate’s down there.”

He looks more confused than smug though, fidgeting with the string of his hoodie and leg bouncing under the table. Actually, that part’s quite distracting.

Jeonghan plants a hand flat on his thigh and holds it down. It’s quite muscular, which is irritating, and he’s pretty sure that his hand couldn’t stop Mingyu from bouncing his leg if he wants to, but it clearly surprises him. “I have no idea what they’re even debating.”

Is it the rare moment of honesty that turns Mingyu’s ears red? He blushes quite easily, Jeonghan is starting to realize. As big and muscular as he is—and as much as he shows it off—he’s also quite shy.

It doesn’t match the image Jeonghan had of him all along.

“Whether it’s worse to be immune to the heat or to the cold.”

Jeonghan can’t help the laugh that escapes him. Especially not when he ducks down to the hide when a few of their classmates turn around. Mingyu scrambles to follow, leaving Seungcheol to stare at them in disbelief before turning around to find their classmates staring at him instead.

He covers his mouth to hide his laugh, waiting until the debate picks up before glancing back at Mingyu’s notebook. He’s too sincere. Who takes notes on whether it’s worse to be immune to the cold or the heat?

“What?” Mingyu whines, twisting his necklace around his finger. His ears look redder now under his hair.

Jeonghan hides his smile and shakes his head. “Nothing.”

He is so going to win.

Mingyu walks around the other side of the classroom to make it down to the podium in the center, so Jeonghan walks around the other side. It’s more dramatic than his usual style—living with Seungcheol means that he’s used to not being the most dramatic person in the room—but it’s fitting for how badly Mingyu is about to lose.

It starts going in that direction too, with Jeonghan pulling out all the evidence he has to defend his position. Mingyu isn’t floundering either—he’s holding his own well—but he keeps toying with his necklace and fidgeting, like he’s more nervous than he was letting on, despite the topic being absolute nonsense.

He’s still rebutting everything Jeonghan says though, so he’s not giving in that easily. Oddly enough, he’s less smug than he looked in the recordings, and his arguments are structured better than they were in the past. They’re not catered to target Jeonghan’s weaknesses like Jeonghan has, but they’re stronger than anything he’s presented in the past.

Never mind that their entire topic is nonsense, Jeonghan is determined to win.

Jeonghan’s getting ready to deliver his final rebuttals when he looks up from his notes to see his opponent now fidgeting with his zipper.

And then Mingyu unzips his hoodie and hangs it on the chair behind him.

Revealing a familiar t-shirt.

Jeonghan’s t-shirt, to be specific.

So. He loses. It’s not obvious because while Mingyu’s technical score was probably higher, the instructor gave him an equal amount of positive feedback. It doesn’t change the fact that he both stuttered and froze when he first caught sight of his t-shirt, one that normally fits almost oversized on him stretched across Mingyu’s broad frame instead, the ends of the short sleeves rolled up to accentuate his muscles.

Jeonghan wishes his first thought hadn’t been whether Mingyu’s biceps got bigger or not. That has nothing to do with the debate or Jeonghan in the first place. Seungcheol spends hours in the gym and Jeonghan’s only ever drooled over his muscles like that once. And that was under the influence of alcohol when they were both still new to each other and new to whatever feelings they had for each other. Now he throws dirty socks at his best friend for flexing in his visual vicinity.

He slurps unhappily on the coffee Mingyu brought him earlier. It’s all diluted now, most of the ice having melted. And it’s not even filled with salt the way Jeonghan would have if he were Mingyu.

Then again, Mingyu did have a better trick up his sleeve. Quite literally too.

Ugh, this would’ve all been so much easier if he could’ve just fallen for Seungcheol instead. Then he wouldn’t be getting distracted in debates by Seungcheol’s notorious junior.

But also, why does Mingyu have his shirt?

“Oh, it’s yours?”

Jeonghan blinks twice. “Huh? What do you mean, ‘oh, it’s yours.’ You knew it was mine.”

Mingyu still has this distinct smug smile on his face, looking every bit like someone who knows he won the debate. “How would I know that? It fits me well, don’t you think?”

“That’s neither here nor there,” Jeonghan retorts, poking his straw at the one remaining cube of ice.

“That’s my t-shirt.”

“It fits you well,” Seungcheol pipes up. “Though, it does look like Jeonghannie’s. Is that what you were doing—”

Mingyu leaps across Jeonghan to cover Seungcheol’s mouth, smiling through his grimace when Seungcheol licks his palm. “I found it in your room, actually, so maybe you should be saying something, hyung.”

Jeonghan cannot believe his luck. This brat goes to borrow a t-shirt from Seungcheol and ends up with one of Jeonghan’s instead, only to wear it to the debate with Jeonghan. That’s too much of a coincidence for Jeonghan to believe that Mingyu didn’t know about it. Especially since he normally dresses in business casual-wear to debates, not a gray hoodie and bootcut jeans.

The hoodie stares offensively up at him from their desks. Mingyu leaves it behind when they’re heading out. Jeonghan shivers and looks away.

This is not an admission of defeat.

Jeonghan slips back into the classroom later. He’s being redirected, is all.

Mingyu rides the high of winning that debate all the way till their first soccer match of the season. He doesn’t even have to frequent Seungcheol and Jeonghan’s kitchen as often to stress cook and he only sees Jeonghan a few times in the following month as both their club teams are busy preparing for their respective soccer matches.

Seungkwan is the one to announce their win and Mingyu doesn’t even see Jeonghan for another week after that when he shows up to cheer Seungcheol on. He’s wearing an obnoxious looking shirt with Seungcheol’s name on it and looking vaguely threatening whenever someone asks if they’re dating, so naturally, Seungcheol is sulking near the goal.

“He doesn’t even think about my feelings,” Seungcheol whines, nearly kicking Mingyu in the shin. “Was rejecting me not enough?”

Mingyu snorts, glancing up at the sign Joshua is holding up next to Jeonghan. “I think Seokminnie said he would be stopping by.”

Actually, he knows for a fact that Seokmin said he would be stopping by, specifically to watch Mingyu lose, but Mingyu had just stuck his tongue out at him and relished in the fact that Wonwoo had taken his side. Wonwoo had also called Joshua over that night and Mingyu had dragged himself out to lose a game of badminton to Jeonghan, so that’s not his finest moment, but it works to snap Seungcheol out of it.

“Seokminnie?” He taps the ball to Mingyu’s right foot. “Why is he coming now? Was that one night not enough—does he want to embarrass me?”

Mingyu taps the ball between his feet, switching to his left to tap it back to Seungcheol. “Hyung, you’re embarrassing me. I don’t think he’s even thinking about that right now. I’m pretty sure he’s just here to watch the game.”

Again, Mingyu has it on good authority that he’s here to watch Mingyu lose, but he doesn’t need to tell Seungcheol that.

Seungcheol sighs, rolling the ball under his foot. He rolls it back. “Fine.”

“Was it really that bad?” Mingyu can’t help but ask, curiosity getting the best of him. “Seokmin didn’t

say it was, but you’ve been all weird about it.”

Seungcheol gives him a scathing look. “It would’ve been easier if it was you.” Mingyu thinks the opposite, considering Seungcheol’s getting all flustered just thinking about it. “But only because we’ve known each other longer. It’s embarrassing because Seokminnie’s a precious dongsaeng. I’m supposed to be the hyung.”

He’s a bad liar.

Mingyu rolls his eyes. “Seokminnie’s older than me.”

“You know what I mean,” Seungcheol says. “You’re more comfortable, that’s all. But since you and Jeonghannie are doing this whole mating ritual thing, I didn’t think it made sense to ask again.”

Mingyu blinks. “Jeonghan hyung and I are doing what?”

“Mingyu and Jeonghan hyung are doing what?”

Seungcheol startles at the echo. “Junnie!”

“Hi hyung,” Junhui calls out with a little wave. “Good luck today!”

See, if Mingyu had said something of the sort, Seungcheol would’ve blustered through a speech about how he doesn’t need luck because he’s very good and worked very hard for this, thank you very much, but because it’s Junhui, he just smiles bashfully and ducks his head. So much for it being easier to let Mingyu manhandle him—Junhui’s been going to the gym lately, maybe Seungcheol should ask him instead next time.

“Thanks, Jun hyung,” Mingyu says, because he’s very polite and not at all resentful. “Are you staying to watch the game?”

Junhui nods. “Yeah, Seokminnie said he wanted to watch you lose, so he dragged me and Hansol over. Are you that bad?”

Mingyu is going to shove an umbrella down Lee Seokmin’s throat. See if he can spread lies like that.

“Seok-Seokminnie?” Seungcheol stutters, turning pale and creeping closer to Mingyu like he can hide behind him. He probably can. Mingyu likes to remind him that he’s shrinking at his old age, coming up somewhere around his collarbone.

Mingyu squawks. “I am not that bad! I’m not bad at all! He’s just spreading rumors because he’s bored,

Jun hyung, come on, would I join the soccer club if I really was that bad?”

“You are kind of clumsy,” a new voice throws in, and really, Mingyu has just about had it with his friends. First Seokmin goes around slandering his name, and now his roommate’s throwing his hat in the ring. Again. As if that one night last week wasn’t enough.

“Thanks, Wonwoo hyung, you’re such a supportive roommate,” Mingyu grumbles. “So glad to see you out and about for once, rather than holed up in your room. Did you run out of ramyeon or something?”

No one wants to give him a break. Seungcheol goes from slowly inching his way behind Mingyu like he can hide from Seokmin and Junhui—neither of which are thinking about this as much as he’s thinking about them—to elbowing Mingyu. “You’re such a brat.”

Mingyu shoves him off, stalking after the ball that rolled away when Seungcheol froze at the mention of Seokmin. “You’re the brat, hyung.”

As annoying as Seungcheol is, Mingyu still can’t help but spin him around when he scores the winning goal at the end of the game. Jeonghan is nowhere to be seen, but it doesn’t matter because Mingyu knows they’re going to beat his team at the end of all this.

Soonyoung complains all morning long, to the point where Jeonghan almost regrets asking him to help out.

Except: he can’t ask anyone else to help with this.

Seungcheol is immediately ruled out because he likes Mingyu too much and would probably tell him. Seungkwan probably would too, not because he likes Mingyu as much as he likes Jeonghan or anything—he’s still very much on Jeonghan’s team—but because he does what’s funniest for him.

Similarly, he can’t ask Chan, because Chan wouldn’t get what he’s doing or why and would probably accidentally mention it at the wrong time. He can’t ask Seokmin, because Seokmin’s a sweetheart that Jeonghan thinks would absolutely tell Mingyu all innocently.

Minghao’s also out of the question, not just because Jeonghan doesn’t know him as well as Mingyu does, but because he’s all about fair play and hates cheating.

Not that Jeonghan is cheating. He’s just bending the rules a bit. If everyone keeps their mouths shut, it’s not cheating.

He’s not above asking Wonwoo to help, but he knows fully well that if Wonwoo is present, Jisoo will weasel his way into those plans too. And Jeonghan isn’t the happiest to see Jisoo at the moment either, so neither of them could help him with this.

That leaves him with: Soonyoung, Junhui, Jihoon, and Hansol.

He can’t ask Hansol because that means Hansol will tell Chan and Chan will tell Seungkwan and Jeonghan will never hear the end of it—despite Seungkwan and Chan having their own strange relationship that Jeonghan could be saying things about, but he’s not, because he’s a good teammate—but also because Hansol will tell Minghao and/or Seokmin, guaranteeing that Mingyu will hear about it either way.

So. Hansol’s out. And Jihoon, for that matter, might entertain the idea, but he’s not going to come out with Jeonghan to paint a tennis court.

That leaves him with: Soonyoung and Junhui.

Let the record state that Junhui was actually his first choice, because Junhui likes to paint, and because Jeonghan thought putting in a good word for Seungcheol might put his roommate out of his misery. Except Junhui’s got a class right when Jeonghan needs him, so he can’t.

That leaves him with: Soonyoung.

Listen, Jeonghan loves Soonyoung. He’s energetic, funny, passionate and kind. He’s fiercely protective of all of their friends and doesn’t let anyone say anything they shouldn’t. He thinks he’s a tiger. That’s not a positive or a negative but it bothers Jihoon to no end so it’s hilarious to Jeonghan.

But he’s also atrocious at keeping secrets. He’s told Jeonghan one too many things about his relationship with Minghao that neither Jeonghan wanted to know nor Minghao wanted anyone to know. He’s invited Seungcheol into a group chat planning his birthday surprise—Seungcheol might have orchestrated that one himself, actually—and he’s also invited Seungkwan into a group chat planning his birthday surprise.

The last thing Jeonghan needs is him telling Mingyu this before Jeonghan has everything together.

But he can’t tell Soonyoung that either.

“Soonyoungie,” he trills, forcing a smile and hoping that the lines are straight enough from the other side, where Soonyoung is supposed to be standing.

He’s posing like a tiger on the freshly painted lines. At least his shoes don’t have a specific enough tread to make it obvious.

“Hyung, did you lose a bet?”

Actually, he’s going to win one.

“No,” he says. “Do the lines look straight from your end?”

Soonyoung faithfully checks both sides. “The corner looks a little uneven, but I guess you could just say it’s worn out.”

Worn out is good. Worn out averts the suspicion—not that there would be any—from what’s actually happening.

“Okay!” Jeonghan straightens, rubbing his back and wincing at the way it cracks. “Yah, Kwon Soonyoung, didn’t you say you would help your hyung paint? What are you doing over there?”

“Oh, Myungho promised to meet me after we’re done to grab lunch,” Soonyoung says, all casually, like Jeonghan didn’t specifically choose him so he wouldn’t have to deal with Minghao seeing all this. “Do you want to come?”

“You have paint on your shoes!” Jeonghan blurts out. “Soonyoung-ah, you should go change before you go out. Make sure you look all nice for Myungho and everything. Hyung will be fine, I think we have leftovers in the fridge.”

Leftovers from Mingyu’s weekend cooking spree, coming off the high of winning his first match. And likely whatever remnants of the stunt he pulled during their debate.

“Myungho likes me the way I am,” Soonyoung insists.

Jeonghan grimaces at the blob of white paint slowly dripping down his shoe lace onto the tongue of his shoe. “I think Myungho would like it better if you didn’t leave a trail of white paint to wherever you guys are going.”

Soonyoung follows his gaze, frowning. “Oh.” He wipes it off with the sleeve of his shirt, some old athletic rag he uses to practice, so Jeonghan can’t judge. “Hyung, I think I’m going to go change. See you later?”

Jeonghan waves him off with a smile. “See you later, Hoshingie.”

Once he’s sure the paint is dry enough, he double checks that there’s a blocked out reservation for the night. The chances of someone else having the same idea as him are low, but if he wants to cement his victory over Mingyu’s, he needs to make sure that no one else even stops by this court.

He grabs a jacket before heading out to the soccer pitch, ready to cheer his roommate on because he’s a good friend and roommate. He’s even stolen Seungcheol’s old jersey, but that ends up backfiring.

“Oh, did you finally put him out of his misery?”

Jeonghan blinks twice, turning slowly to look at Jisoo. “What.”

“Seungcheol.”

He blinks again. “What about Seungcheol?”

“The jersey, you being here at the game,” Jisoo says. “It’s cute, how supportive you are.”

“Yes,” Jeonghan says slowly, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Because I’m a very good roommate. Which you would know nothing about.”

That has nothing to do with Jisoo’s decision to live alone, of course, although it might have a little to do with that because even Seungcheol could have afforded to live alone if he wanted to. That, and the fact that Jisoo gets up to sit next to Wonwoo the second he walks over to the stands.

“Oh, hyung!”

Lee Seokmin, the human embodiment of sunshine. He might be Jeonghan’s favorite of Mingyu’s friends, Mingyu vehemently excluded. He’s met him a few times because he knows Seungkwan and Seungkwan knows everyone, but he’s awfully friendly and always has a smile for Jeonghan.

Jeonghan can’t help but smile, patting the now empty seat by his side for Seokmin to sit next to him.

“Seokmin-ah, hi! How are you?”

“Good,” Seokmin says, but he’s fidgeting around all nervously. Jeonghan waits it out though, because

Seokmin always gives himself away. “Hyung?”

Jeonghan hums curiously.

“Sorry,” he finally says, and Jeonghan nearly falls off the bench.

“Huh?”

“I didn’t know, you and Seungcheol hyung—”

Him and Seungcheol, what. He doesn’t like the direction this is going in. Especially because he can hear Mingyu hollering in the background. Apparently, he’s scored a goal, so now everyone has to cheer for him. Including Seokmin, who still hasn’t explained why he’s apologizing to Jeonghan about Seungcheol of all people.

If anything, he could be apologizing for befriending that floppy-haired menace everyone around him is currently cheering for. But that’s beyond Jeonghan’s control, so he can’t really say anything about that.

When the cheering dies down, Seokmin has already turned back to him with puppy eyes. “Ah, hyung, if I’d known about you and Seungcheol hyung, I wouldn’t have said yes when he asked! He said it was okay, so I thought you knew too, but then you left—”

Jeonghan has a sneaking suspicion that he knows what Seokmin is talking about now. He isn’t happy to have come to that conclusion, however. “Seokmin-ah,” he starts sweetly, forcing his smile to look less like a grimace, because who is he, Jisoo? “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

No, he knows exactly what he’s talking about.

Seokmin gives him a searching look, but he obviously won’t find anything. Just because Jeonghan knows what he’s implying doesn’t suddenly make it true. And he would appreciate it if people would stop making that assumption too, actually, but maybe that’s asking for too much considering what he’s doing right now.

Seokmin gives up, turning back to the field. Jeonghan’s gaze lingers, waiting a moment longer before he turns back too.

He goes out of his way to cheer for Seungcheol and boo for Mingyu though. Emphasizing the booing so Seokmin doesn’t bring it up again, but he looks equally delighted and even joins in when Mingyu launches a header off the goal post and back into his own head.

Mingyu, naturally, looks less than delighted at the two of them in the stands.

Clearly, Jeonghan has to step up his game though. Mingyu and Seungcheol’s team wins despite his efforts to distract them and Mingyu even lifts Seungcheol up and spins him around like they won the World Cup or something.

Not like two law students well into their twenties taking a random sports club a little too seriously.

And Jeonghan unfortunately finds it a little endearing.

He groans, falling back against the bleachers. This is so unbelievably stupid.

It’s only his small saving grace that they won their first match, but it’s less of a saving grace than a curse when they walk back onto the field the next week. Mingyu falls back as the striker and lets Seungcheol take the lead, partially because he’s been running around more for his internship this past week and partially because Jeonghan is being noisy and obnoxious in the stands while cheering for Seungcheol and booing for Mingyu.

He’s giving the other bystanders whiplash, and more than once, someone asked him if he was dating Seungcheol during last week’s match, so he’s now wearing his own jersey to cheer for another team.

Not that Mingyu’s even sure if he’s even cheering for their team. As far as he can tell, he’s just being noisy in the background at the wrong times.

Like whenever Mingyu is trying to score. Surely that’s just a coincidence though.

He briefly ponders it having something to do with Jeonghan pouting the entire time after inviting Mingyu to an impromptu tennis match, and then scowling at the court boundaries every time he thought Mingyu wasn’t looking. They tied and Mingyu only came out on top because he was still running on the high of his soccer win, so it’s not like either of them put their hearts into the game.

They’d walked back to Jeonghan and Seungcheol’s apartment in silence and Mingyu had fallen asleep first while Seungcheol and Jeonghan had a celebratory drink. Surely that’s not what this is about?

He can’t blame Jeonghan for what happens next, but it’s not not Jeonghan’s fault that Mingyu is distracted when one of the midfielders from the other team crashes into Seungcheol, slidetackling him from the side when Seungcheol is mid-dribble.

Mingyu thinks he hears a crunch when Seungcheol goes down. He doesn’t bother looking around when he sprints over. “Hyung?”

Seungcheol just clutches his knee and shakes his head, tearing up whenever he tries to move. The stands are quiet now, and even the other team looks on, worried. “I can’t—”

Mingyu surveys his position. He could probably carry Seungcheol till the stands, but it might be more embarrassing for both of them to get injured with Mingyu trying to juggle Seungcheol, so he slides his hand behind his back, standing on his injured side. “Hyung, I can help you stand, but can you limp over to the car at least? Or should we call an ambulance?”

“It might be easier if he leans against me.”

Mingyu startles, helping Seungcheol sit up.

“We’re closer in height, so it’ll be easier for him to not have to lean up as much,” Jeonghan says, biting his lip when he looks down at Seungcheol’s knee. He smooths his hand over Seungcheol’s bangs.

“Though, you might be too heavy for me, Seungcheollie. I can drive, if you’ll let Mingyu help you to the

car?”

Mingyu’s temporarily stupefied by how softly Jeonghan says his name. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard it in that tone of voice before. “I can carry him,” he offers, cradling Seungcheol’s injured leg as he slowly stands up, hefting him to his chest. “This is okay, right?”

Jeonghan tries to not react to the way Mingyu easily lifts Seungcheol up. It’s really not the time for that, but apparently those big muscles of his aren’t for show.

On the other hand, it jostles Seungcheol’s leg more and the chances of worsening his injury are higher that way. Mingyu must come to the same conclusion because he puts him down almost immediately, leaning Seungcheol against him instead.

He still has to limp to the car, but it’s easier for Mingyu to help him into the backseat with the front passenger’s seat pushed up.

Jeonghan leans over his shoulder. “Is there enough space?”

Mingyu props his leg up on the seat, bracketing Seungcheol’s legs with his arms and holding his hand. “Hyung?”

Seungcheol nods, waving them off despite how swollen his knee already looks. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

He practically crushes Mingyu’s hand when he so much as tries to move his knee though, so Mingyu doubts he’s being honest.

It ends up less fine when they get to the hospital. The ER doctor tells them Seungcheol’s ACL is likely torn and that with how bad the tear probably is, he’ll most likely need surgery. The orthopedist orders an MRI just to be sure, and Mingyu and Jeonghan are slumped in the waiting room while the technician wheels Seungcheol down for imaging.

Mingyu thinks about calling Seungcheol’s mom first, because he knows she’ll be worried, but he decides to wait until they hear what the orthopedist has to say. It might not be as serious, especially since nothing is for certain yet, but he can’t get Seungcheol’s pained look out of his mind.

Next to him, Jeonghan is equally quiet, arm pressed against his over the shared armrest between their chairs. He keeps glancing up at the doors every time they open, but there’s still at least an hour before Seungcheol’s done with his scan.

The waiting room feels unusually quiet, the hum of the fluorescent lights and distant footsteps the only sounds breaking the silence. Mingyu wants to lean back in his chair but his muscles are locked up, elbows resting on his knees and his head in his hands with his gaze fixed on the door that Seungcheol was taken through.

He glances to the side, chewing on his thumbnail, where Jeonghan keeps fidgeting with his phone—likely texting their friends since they weren’t at the game today. He doesn’t look up. “He’s going to be okay.”

Mingyu startles, lips parting slightly around a question he can’t quite bring himself to ask. He nods slowly, twisting his nail around between his teeth. Jeonghan finally looks up from his phone. “The doctor said it was a common injury, that he’s young and healthy, and that he’ll recover well.”

He pushes Mingyu’s hand down onto his own leg, and doesn’t lift his hand from his immediately.

Mingyu stays quiet, staring at their hands and wondering if it would be appropriate to interlace their fingers until Jeonghan finally lifts his hand back up to continue texting everyone. He isn’t sure if he should leave his hand there or not—it’s still just resting on Jeonghan’s thigh, after all, and as far as

Mingyu knows, they’re not that close—but he’s also left it there for a moment too long.

Mingyu exhales slowly, sliding down further in his chair as he tips his head back against the walls. His legs are probably too far out into the hallway, but he’s too tired to bend his knees again. He closes his eyes, suddenly overwhelmed by the noise around him. The full weight of the day—the week, really, if he lets himself think about it—hits him all at once.

Jeonghan keeps glancing at the door, tucking his legs up on the seat and shifting. If the armrest weren’t there, he would probably be leaning against Mingyu directly, considering how he’s folded himself into the chair next to him. His gaze lingers on Mingyu a little longer than he probably intends and Mingyu briefly entertains the thought that Jeonghan can hear his thoughts, but he just looks away.

Three more patients are wheeled through the doors, but Seungcheol doesn’t come out yet. He blinks, longer this time, and has to rub his eyes to clear them when he opens them. Jeonghan nudges

Mingyu’s shoulder with his own, head tipped to the side ever so slightly.

Mingyu tilts his head just enough to see Jeonghan. “Hmm?”

Jeonghan shakes his head, a soft smile playing at his lips. “Nothing. Go back to sleep.”

Mingyu knows he’s pouting, but he’s too tired to help it. “M’not sleeping.”

He hopes Jeonghan’s huff is a laugh, but his eyes are fluttering. He thinks he must actually be falling asleep when he feels an arm press against his and a head brushing his shoulder. He knows he’s falling asleep because he hears a whispered cute, and that doesn’t sound like something Jeonghan would say.

Beside him, Jeonghan’s head is almost resting against his shoulder, likely unintentionally. His eyes are half-lidded, long lashes casting faint shadows. Mingyu feels his heart pick up and gives in, glancing at Jeonghan’s profile, the curve of his cheek, the way his lips are parted slightly as he watches the door, and the way he blinks slower and slower, like he’s falling asleep too.

It’s only when he shifts slightly that his head tips fully onto Mingyu’s shoulder. Mingyu’s breath catches briefly, but his eyelids are heavier.

The waiting room is suspended in time, slowing with each person that walks in or out of the doors. Mingyu shifts in his seat, his limbs too heavy to move even if he’s still alert, eyes flicking to the door every time it opens. Jeonghan is a welcome weight against his side, even if he won’t say it.

He’s glad he’s not alone. He can admit that to himself.

Next to him, Jeonghan’s breath is slow and steady. Mingyu catches himself wondering what it would feel like if he reached out, if he brushed a hand over Jeonghan’s hair, even if there’s really no reason to. He’s pretty sure Jeonghan is still awake and perfectly capable of tucking his own hair behind his ear, so Mingyu achieves the same level of self restraint as a cuttlefish.

He doesn’t know when he falls asleep, or who falls asleep first. All he hears are the sound of crutches, right in front of him, clacking softly as Mingyu startles, blearily squinting through the sudden intrusion of fluorescent light.

Seungcheol looks even more exhausted than before, but relieved enough to crack a small, tired smile. His gaze flicks between Mingyu and Jeonghan, a silent question in his eyes at how their heads are still close, how Jeonghan’s cheek is pressed against Mingyu’s shoulder, how Mingyu had slouched down lower on that side to make the height difference less painful for Jeonghan’s neck.

“You guys look like you’re about to fall back asleep,” he teases quietly, voice hoarse but warm.

Mingyu’s cheeks flush. Jeonghan doesn’t bother getting up immediately, just hums noncommittally.

“What did the doctor say?”

He’s still leaning against Mingyu. His head is still on Mingyu’s shoulder. Mingyu doesn’t move either.

Seungcheol sighs. “My ACL is torn and I’ll need to come in for surgery in a few weeks if things don’t get better. Guess my soccer career is over.”

Jeonghan’s lips curl into a sleepy smile. “Don’t be so dramatic,” he mutters, voice still husky with sleep. Mingyu’s stomach flips over. “That’s been over for years now. You already lost last year too. It’s a good thing you’re going to be a lawyer, isn’t it?”

Seungcheol pouts, limping into the empty seat to Jeonghan’s other side. “Yah, Yoon Jeonghan, come on.”

And then, a moment later, when Jeonghan stays quiet— “Yah, are you seriously going to fall asleep again?”

Mingyu cranes his neck to see. Sure enough, Jeonghan’s eyes are closed, but he pushes Mingyu back with the back of his hand against his chest. “Shhh, I’m comfortable.”

Seungcheol snorts. Mingyu makes a face. “What am I, a bed?”

Ah, his mouth still hasn’t learned what’s appropriate to say in front of pretty boys. It’s lovely to know that some things will never change.

Funnily enough, Jeonghan’s exhaustion must have lowered the filter that normally keeps him from saying equally incriminating things back. He leans harder into Mingyu, head swinging slightly lower off his shoulder to rest against his collarbone. “Oh? Is that your way of saying you want me on top of you?”

Mingyu sputters, nearly throwing Jeonghan off him as he denies it. Seungcheol just laughs in the background. That’s why Mingyu doesn’t say any more to refute it, because it made Seungcheol laugh after seriously injuring himself. Not because he wouldn’t mind that. Not because he’s now imagining how that would work. Not because he’s going to now think about that every time he and Jeonghan are out sweating on some court.

Oh, Mingyu is so screwed.

Jeonghan refuses to let Seungcheol talk him into anything ever again. This is a lie he tells himself when he sees Seungcheol holding up the billiard cues.

The only reason he’s going along with this is because Seungcheol’s been down all month since his surgery disqualified their entire team from participating in the intramural soccer tournament.

Jeonghan personally thinks he should be more worried about how he’s injuring himself for sports clubs when he’s a law student, especially since all their friends have been stopping by to check up on him and Mingyu has been crashing their kitchen to cook for him nearly every day since his surgery.

Apparently, he’d even offered to drive him home from the hospital after his surgery, but Seungcheol had already asked Jeonghan to do that since they live together.

It’s nice to know he’s still his best friend’s first choice in something. Never mind that Jeonghan’s skills in the kitchen are limited to heating up meal kits, he’s tired of Kim Mingyu.

So Jeonghan had suggested that they take up a new hobby together when Seungcheol had looked up at him with those baby cow eyes, round and glassy and pouting from how bored he was, and he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

Six weeks later, they’re still visiting the recreation room every week after class and Jeonghan still doesn’t regret it. Seungcheol’s on crutches now and he’s been making great progress with his physical therapist too. He’s also not waking up in as much pain either, which Jeonghan is even more grateful for. He’s woken up more nights than he can remember, clutching his fists outside Seungcheol’s door when he hears him crying, feeling even more helpless than he had when he first got the surgery.

Obviously, he hasn’t told Seungcheol that. Seungcheol’s probably figured this out too, because he keeps smiling when Jeonghan thinks he can’t see him.

Still, it’s been nice to have that time to hang out, especially without the additional time split between separate soccer practices. Especially now that Jisoo’s been spending all of his time with Wonwoo instead, if Mingyu’s insistent nightly pictures of the tennis court are telling enough. He doesn’t even pick the one Jeonghan took the painstaking trouble to repaint, which leaves him wondering if Soonyoung spilled.

Never mind that they’re both only half decent at tennis, it gets Jeonghan’s mind off both Jisoo and Seungcheol’s recovery. It probably does the same for Mingyu, who, hasn’t said it outright but Jeonghan suspects held a flame for Wonwoo. He’s usually more irritated about how obvious Jisoo is and how Wonwoo doesn’t pay nearly enough attention to him, so Jeonghan thinks it’s safe to assume that he doesn’t still like Wonwoo.

He wishes he could be that mature. He’s started to get irritated whenever he sees Jisoo’s face these days. It’s only half Jisoo’s fault, because he still won’t get a drink with him, but he’s shameless enough to go get drunk at Mingyu and Wonwoo’s apartment.

Apparently he’s a lightweight. Jeonghan isn’t upset that he hears about this from Mingyu—who is not, and had been oddly cuddly during a game of basketball, leading to Jeonghan’s loss, for some reason—and doesn’t get to experience it firsthand, because his best friend is a bastard who only thinks with his dick.

“Jeonghan-ah~,” Seungcheol calls out, attempting to balance the white ball on his cue.

Jeonghan doesn’t bother looking up from where he’s setting up the scoreboard when he hums.

Seungcheol just likes attention.

“Do you think I could become a Youtuber instead?”

That unfortunately gets Seungcheol the attention he wants. “Are you dropping out?”

He thinks Seungcheol makes a face, but he doesn’t bother checking. He’s already lost one game and had to buy them drinks. And he normally wouldn’t have minded, but he just lost to Mingyu last night too, so he’s not in the mood to lose again. “No. But it might be nice to have something else to do while you and Mingyu are off playing soccer.”

“Isn’t your entire team disqualified for the season now?”

Seungcheol does make a face this time, one that Jeonghan sees now that everything’s set up. He’s wearing a red beanie, one that makes his head look extra round and his face look smaller. He’s always been a cute younger brother type in Jeonghan’s eyes, but he’s this close to smacking him if he loses again. “I think he’s subbing in for some other team. Or coaching. Anyway, he’s out playing sports all the time.”

Jeonghan misses his first shot. “Is he now.”

Does Mingyu have to be so honest all the time?

Seungcheol makes his, hitting both the red balls with ease. “I think he and Seokminnie might actually be better than you today.”

He pretends not to see. “Did you make it?”

“Yah!” Seungcheol pouts from where he’s leaning against his crutch. He’s been getting used to using just one lately. “Why are you like this?”

He snorts, getting up to miss another shot, adding another foul to his total. He’s sitting in the negatives now, and it’s starting to get on his nerves.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get any better even as the game continues. Seungcheol keeps talking, and he sounds brighter than he has in weeks, so Jeonghan is happy for him, but he’s distracting. He misses his last three cushion, practically handing the win off to Seungcheol at this point.

“Yah! Be quiet!”

Seungcheol giggles abashedly. “I’ll eat well!”

He ends up eating well. He’s in the middle of placing their order when he hears a familiar voice—that he actually doesn’t want to hear right now—but he’s surprised to hear how muted he sounds.

Jeonghan looks up from his phone, raising an eyebrow at the two men in front of him, still deep in conversation. Seungcheol looks up. “Oh, did you order?”

He nods. “It’ll be here in ten minutes. Are we playing another game in the meantime?”

Seungcheol shakes his head, turning to Mingyu instead. “Are you staying?”

Jeonghan does too. He’s surprised to find that Mingyu looks more tired than usual, dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants with his tucked in his pockets. His bangs are tied up almost cutely and

Jeonghan’s surprised by how long his hair has grown since he first met him on the soccer pitch. His own hair’s grown quite long since then too, nearly to his shoulders.

Just like in their first debate class all those weeks ago, Mingyu turns to Jeonghan first. Jeonghan stares back. “Why are you looking at me?”

Mingyu doesn’t answer, just looks away and shakes his head. “No, I have to head out soon.”

Seungcheol frowns next to him. “Are you sure? You can stay over if you want. You’ll just have to sleep on the couch.”

Never mind that Mingyu’s legs would stick off the couch, he glances at Jeonghan again before he shakes his head. “No, hyung, it’s fine, I can manage.”

Jeonghan feels like he could ask what that’s all about, but he also feels like he’s missed the timing for that. Seungcheol stares between them, raising his eyebrow. “Jeonghannie won’t mind, right?”

He really doesn’t. He couldn’t share a room with Mingyu, not when he falls asleep with the lights on and music playing quietly in the background, but Mingyu cleans up after himself—he even cleans up after Jeonghan and Seungcheol—and he even cooks for them.

“No,” he drawls, crossing his arms around his cue stick and leaning against the side of the billiards table. “Why?”

Mingyu shakes his head. “It’s not a big deal, it’s fine.”

He keeps glancing at Seungcheol’s crutches when he says it. Jeonghan glances down too. “What happened?”

Jeonghan could just say it outright, that Mingyu can spend the night if he wants, but he still feels like he’s missing part of the story. Mingyu looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks, and even Seungcheol looks a little concerned.

“Ah, it’s really nothing,” Mingyu insists, shaking his head and shifting his weight as he fidgets with his hoodie string. “You guys fight all the time too, don’t you?”

“You fought with Wonwoo?”

Seungcheol winces. Mingyu snorts derisively. “Fight is generous. It’s not like that. I haven’t even seen him in a while, actually.”

“Is he that busy?” Jeonghan shouldn’t keep pushing. Not when it’s obvious that Mingyu doesn’t want to talk about it. But it feels wrong to see someone so big curling in like that, trying to make himself small. Jeonghan doesn’t like it.

Mingyu shrugs. “You’d have to ask him. I don’t know what he’s doing.”

“He didn’t show up to the exhibition rehearsal last week?”

He’s lost again. He doesn’t know anything about an exhibition—if it’s about Minghao and Soonyoung’s dance showcase, they were all there, including Wonwoo, so he doesn’t think it’s that—but Mingyu’s expression further sours.

“No,” he grits out, still looking at Jeonghan for some reason. “He did not.” He finally turns back to

Seungcheol. “Why, did he say something about it?”

Seungcheol shakes his head apologetically. “No, sorry, Mingyu-ah.” When Mingyu’s face falls, he hastens to add: “If you want to stay, Jeonghannie’s buying lunch. He’s lost twice, so we can get you something too.”

Jeonghan snorts, because his wallet is apparently being offered up so easily now. Not that he would mind, if it gets Mingyu out of this strange mood. It feels a little too much like kicking a puppy to deny him that right now with how pathetic he looks.

But Mingyu just shakes his head, offering what appears to be a small, but real smile as he walks away from the billiards tables. “Nah, then you’ll make me play next game too. I should probably finish that report so I can get some sleep tonight.”

Does that mean Jeonghan won’t find himself running around the basketball court tonight?

“Mingyu doesn’t want to show how bad he is,” Seungcheol insists, even though Mingyu is very much still in earshot.

Mingyu flips him off without looking. Jeonghan grins. “Or maybe Mingyu suddenly gets super interested in something else and says, ‘yah, Cheol-ah, let’s go belly dancing.’”

Mingyu trips over his feet, an unexpected laugh bursting from him as he bumps into one of the foosball tables across the room, by the door. Jeonghan doesn’t bother hiding his smile.

“I can do that once,” Seungcheol declares valiantly, like a liar, because he most certainly would not go belly dancing like that, and Jeonghan’s laughing about it to his face. “But if you think about it, it’s more likely that you both would end up doing that.”

He’s not laughing anymore.

Something about the tennis court is off.

When Mingyu squints—which he shouldn’t have to, because it’s not that bright and he has sunglasses on—it reminds him of those optical illusion rooms where people look like giants. It’s all geometry and angles and nothing like what he should be experiencing in their recreational university tennis courts.

Not to be confused with the tennis courts that the professionals sometimes play on—neither Mingyu nor any of his friends were anywhere near good enough to get accepted to play on those.

So. He squints. The line doesn’t look straight, but that’s not even his biggest problem.

No, the diagonal line makes his side of the court slightly bigger. A small margin, that he wouldn’t have noticed if not for the fact that when he hit the ball over the net, it should have been within the boundaries.

If he was playing from the other side of the court.

“Why don’t we switch sides?” He calls out.

How did he manage to change the boundaries of a tennis court?

Jeonghan makes a face. “There’s a glare.”

There’s a glare for Mingyu too. He’s not astronomically taller than Jeonghan or anything. Seungcheol’s roommate is just whiny and a cheater, apparently.

Mingyu just has to find a way to prove it.

“There’s a glare for me too,” he complains.

“You have sunglasses.”

If he really wanted, he could probably give Jeonghan these sunglasses. For all he knows, they might even be Seungcheol’s, borrowed at some soccer practice and forgotten since then. Seungcheol’s still recovering, so it’s not like he’s actively looking for them now either.

He’s going to sound crazy if he says it, is the thing though. If he so much as suggests that the lines are off, Jeonghan will not only laugh, but call him a sore loser who is making excuses for why he’s losing.

Never mind that neither of them are tennis prodigies, Mingyu’s never lost this badly before. He should have an advantage too, with his height and his stamina, but somehow Jeonghan’s the one winning.

“Don’t they switch sides even professionally?” He lifts a hand to block the sun, to play up the glare. He pushes his sunglasses up, huffing when a stray strand of hair escapes.

Jeonghan stares at him for a moment too long, gaze darting up and then shrugging. “Do we look professional to you?”

No, because professionals aren’t somehow repainting the entire court and making it look like it was always like that. Is this why Jeonghan always looked like a dejected rabbit when Mingyu picked literally every other tennis court in the complex when they played previously?

“Well, no, but we’re not terrible,” he mutters, fully aware that he’s down on the third set. He still has a chance, if they could just switch sides.

“If you didn’t want to lose, you should’ve just said so,” Jeonghan says now, and Mingyu thinks he sees the sparkle in his eyes. That terrible knowing sparkle that screams mischief.

He’ll just keep playing pretend until Mingyu lets him in because they’re both so bored. He’ll tell Mingyu lies till it gets him aside and then they’ll start to doubt this—whatever it is that they’re doing.

“No, hang on a minute—”

“It’s okay to be bad at tennis, Mingyu-ah, you just have to accept it.”

It’s worse now that he talks to Mingyu casually. He always sounds so sweet, even though he’s dissing Mingyu to his face. It’s terrible—Mingyu can’t even tell anyone because they’ll call him crazy.

Jeonghan hyung, their friends’ angel. Mingyu’s personal nightmare, apparently.

The lines are off. Mingyu isn’t crazy.

Jeonghan throws his head back and laughs, right before serving when Mingyu doesn’t even have his racket in his hand.

“Jeonghannie hyung!”

There’s no need to dwell on the unfair match—the outcome is a given.

Mingyu loses.

Two weeks later, the day after Seungcheol gets off his crutches, finds Jeonghan and all of their other friends piled in the campus bar at trivia night. He’s pretty sure it was Chan’s idea initially, because he’s a little nerdy like that, but also because he and Seungkwan keep trying to one-up each other.

Jeonghan has no idea why they would waste so much time on that. He says as much to Seungcheol, and then threatens to throw him out of the apartment when Seungcheol suggests that’s exactly what he’s doing with Mingyu.

Listen. There is a difference. The difference being that Seungkwan was the one who antagonized

Chan first to get his attention and Mingyu antagonized Jeonghan first for reasons Jeonghan still hasn’t figured out.

None of this matters though—why is Mingyu so good at trivia?

He’s terrorizing Seokmin now, because Minghao was sure Seokmin would be better at the more random questions than the rest of their team, and while that’s true, Jun had switched out for Mingyu instead and he’s gotten every single question right so far.

“How does he know about this?” Jeonghan hisses, leaning over to poke Seungcheol. “Yah, Seungcheollie. What are you feeding the kids on your team?”

Seungcheol smiles proudly, all too thrilled for Jeonghan to expect anything good from him. “That’s our team secret.”

Jeonghan scowls, whirling back around. Fine. It’s not that unexpected that Mingyu would be good at trivia—part of law school is playing these mind games, after all. Especially this particular game, considering it’s trivia that they made the questions for since their group was bigger.

At least Mingyu looks a little more flustered now, chewing on the tip of his nail as he tries to figure out who Seokmin picked for class president.

His lips look particularly pink in the bar lighting, glossy where he’s licked them. Jeonghan doesn’t have a reason for why he keeps looking, only that Mingyu is now chewing on his finger, staring at Seokmin with wide eyes as he tries to weasel the answer out of him.

Jeonghan’s not in their year so it’s not something he knows and even Seungcheol looks confused, so there’s no point asking his team.

“I’ll use my team chance,” Mingyu eventually says, dragging his finger away from his lips while Jeonghan looks away sharply.

On the other hand, Jisoo—there’s a surprise, that he ended up on the same team as Jeonghan—and Minghao both seem convinced that his team wouldn’t know either. “They won’t know it.”

“There’s no way,” Jisoo concurs.

Jeonghan had assumed the same, but the way Jihoon lights up makes him rethink his position.

“Mingyu-ssi, he picked you,” Jihoon hollers immediately, echoed by Hansol leaning over Seungcheol to make sure Mingyu hears them.

Should he be grateful that he turns back to Mingyu when Jihoon says it? It’s like watching a soap opera, one that leaves Jeonghan’s stomach full of butterflies.

Mingyu inhales sharply, eyes sparkling when he stares up at Seokmin through his lashes. Seokmin chokes out a flustered laugh and Jeonghan knows it must be right.

Except Mingyu doesn’t take the hint, laughing embarrassedly and tilting his head. Like Seungkwan’s puppy does, which is to say—

Jeonghan finds him cute.

“It’s you,” Jihoon insists.

“Are you sure? Was it really me?”

Why won’t he believe them? Seokmin’s practically giving himself away with how bad his acting is and their entire team looks down in the dumps. It’s the first time Jeonghan’s seen Mingyu less than assured of himself.

“One hundred percent, it’s you,” Hansol agrees.

“Thank you,” Mingyu murmurs prettily, biting his lower lip before he glances at their team, then back at Seokmin. He interlocks his fingers and tilts his head again, gnawing on his knuckles as he looks up at Seokmin through his lashes.

The light catches and turns his tan skin amber, his dark hair curled today. He looks prettier than usual—and while Jeonghan can admit that Mingyu is objectively attractive, it’s annoying to find him pretty—all flustered and stargaze-y as he looks at his friends.

“You made me the class president,” he decides, holding his hand out to Seokmin. “I’ll go with ‘Mingyu’ as my final answer.”

Jeonghan doesn’t bother hiding his disappointment, smacking his hand against his forehead and still unable to looking away. Mingyu’s hands are broad, big enough to envelope Jeonghan’s. He’s probably warmer too.

Mingyu licks his lips before he sucks on the edge of his nail. Jeonghan can’t look away, even as Mingyu’s eyes sparkle and he lets out a sigh of relief as their team pulls into the lead.

Jeonghan’s team ends up losing at trivia by nearly a hundred points, but it hardly matters when he can’t get Mingyu’s glittering look out of his mind. Even when Seokmin sulks about Mingyu’s hint only further confusing him, Jeonghan can’t look away from Mingyu curled up on the barstool, giggling.

It only gets worse when he turns towards their team, accidentally catching Jeonghan’s eye. He’s a little flushed and a little tipsy, pink from the praise Seungcheol’s still showering on him for leading their team to victory, but he bites his lower lip and smiles shyly, ducking his head while Jeonghan freezes, mouth halfway to his drink.

Does he look at all of his friends like he’s in love with them?

“Hyung, should you be doing this?” Mingyu asks for the second time, staring at Seungcheol as he bounces a soccer ball on his knee.

Seungcheol makes a face. “You’ve gotten ten times worse than my literal doctor. Can you go hover elsewhere?”

He’s smiling as he says it. Mingyu rolls his eyes—Seungcheol likes being taken care of. Mingyu likes taking care of people, and usually that means Seungcheol too, but he’s been implying certain things lately that Mingyu doesn’t have the patience to deal with.

Certain things about his roommate and his favorite striker. Certain things that make no sense because Mingyu hasn’t really thought of anyone like that in a while, not since he got over Wonwoo.

Speaking of Wonwoo.

His own roommate said he wouldn’t show up for their group futsal match, citing something about meeting with his advisor about potentially doing a dissertation instead of an oral exam for a class, but he’d also told Mingyu to not wait up for dinner since he wouldn’t be back until later so he’s not sure what else he has planned.

It’s whatever, actually. He’s more upset that Wonwoo changed his mind about the photography exhibition and then just didn’t bother to tell him. He said it was nothing when Mingyu brought it up, but Mingyu thinks he’s earned the right to be petty over how often Wonwoo’s been kicking him out of the apartment.

There’s something else he’s been keeping from Seungcheol. The last thing he needs is Jeonghan hearing that Wonwoo’s been exiling his roommate while potentially having a thing for someone Mingyu suspects Jeonghan has a thing for.

And now he’s sulking for a whole other reason.

In conclusion—it’s Seungcheol’s fault for making him think about any of this. That’s the only explanation for why he’s so distracted that he takes a soccer ball to the face, flailing as he rights himself.

Surely, it has nothing to do with the way Jeonghan walks onto the futsal field, hair tie between his teeth as he combs his hair into a ponytail.

That would be weird.

“Oh, Mingyu-ah, watch out,” Seungcheol calls out belatedly, not a shred of his conscience visible as he—why is he telling Mingyu this? He already hit him in the face with the ball. This isn’t a warning.

Mingyu’s eyes narrow and he gives him his fakest smile. “Yes, thank you, Seungcheol-ah.”

Seokmin just looks between them and laughs. Mingyu gives up on the act and laughs too, bouncing the soccer ball to him and wincing when Jihoon intercepts it.

“Hyung, are we already on opposing teams?” Seokmin calls out, a little too delightedly. “Don’t you know you’re already going to lose?”

Jihoon takes the bait every time, flipping his cap backwards and shaking his head. “What, do you really think having Mingyu means you’ll win?”

Mingyu perks up, like a dog with a tail ready to wag at praise. That’s a compliment, isn’t it?

“But Mingyu’s been losing lately.”

His tail droops immediately.

Jeonghan is the one who says it, but this too, is Seungcheol’s fault. He hasn’t known peace since his best friend got rejected by his roommate and now he terrorizes Mingyu for the fun of it.

“We were disqualified because of an injury, that’s not fair,” Seungcheol calls out quickly, and Mingyu’s pout morphs into a smirk when Jeonghan’s smug expression falters, eyes blowing wide and darting towards Mingyu.

Just as they had in that basketball court, all those months ago, when he stopped by to meet Seungkwan.

So he still hasn’t told Seungcheol the extent of their competitions?

To be fair, Mingyu hasn’t either, but he hasn’t been keeping them from Seungcheol either. He’s said enough that he gets teased for it now, but that’s better than trying to keep track of a series of terrible lies that Mingyu knows would have come out had he tried.

Seungkwan steps in helpfully. “Oh, that’s not what he meant.” He nudges Jeonghan, who nudges him back harshly, much to his chagrin. “Right, hyung?”

“Seungkwan-ah.”

Seungkwan pays him no mind, glancing between Jeonghan and Mingyu. “Should we have them on opposite teams today?”

Jihoon looks at everyone that’s playing today—Seungcheol, Jeonghan, Joshua, Soonyoung, himself, Mingyu, Seokmin, Seungkwan, and Chan—and makes a face. “No one stands a chance if they end up on the same team.”

Mingyu puffs out his chest just slightly. Two compliments in a day from Jihoon, who’s been particularly stingy about them lately, is more than he was expecting when Seungcheol roped him into it.

“Rock paper scissors?”

That gives them the following team—Seungcheol, Mingyu, Seokmin, and Chan. They’re so confident that they don’t bother fighting over having fewer members, which means the other team is composed of Jeonghan, Joshua, Jihoon, Soonyoung, and Seungkwan.

“Our team is so good,” Seokmin choruses the second they split off to opposite sides of the pitch. Mingyu barely registers Seungkwan’s squawk of disagreement from the other end, if not for Jeonghan’s disbelieving laugh following. It’s deeper than the high pitched giggle or the sharp staccato Mingyu is used to, and then he’s left questioning when he got used to someone’s laugh to recognize the different kinds.

“Isn’t this just giving us the win?” Seungcheol throws in, and Mingyu shakes his thoughts off with a grin. “Yah, Yoon Jeonghan, you’re going down!”

Mingyu shares the sentiment.

“Like hell!” Jeonghan calls back, but he’s laughing too.

Mingyu takes the goal in the first half, with Seungcheol in the center and Seokmin and Chan as either wing. They’re down one player from the other team so it’s harder to slip around them, but Seungcheol’s good. He may joke about it, but Mingyu’s sure that if he’d wanted to, he could have played professionally.

That’s not to say Mingyu’s any worse. He’s no goalie like Jihoon, but he’s been practicing far more than usual to keep up with Jeonghan’s impromptu games, so he’s faster on his feet.

He’s not prepared for Joshua and Soonyoung to suddenly double their futsal skills overnight. Joshua kicks a cross to Soonyoung that he passes straight into the goal and Seungcheol starts cursing Mingyu’s name to hell and back.

“If you’re so confident then you switch out!” Mingyu yells back, groaning when Jeonghan’s ball hits him in the knee.

Seungcheol switches out. It’s not a guarantee for victory at all. In fact, they get worse. Chan trips over his own feet and practically hands off the ball to Seungkwan. And once it’s with him, it’s just passed between Seungkwan and Jeonghan right down to the other end of the field.

It doesn’t even matter that Seokmin marks Seungkwan and that Mingyu towers over Jeonghan—Seungkwan’s too good to be stopped and Jeonghan’s too wily.

The wind blows in his hair and he laughs when they score, laughing so brightly that the world slips into slow motion. Mingyu tilts his head to get a better view, pushing his sweaty hair off his forehead and watching Seungkwan embrace Jeonghan as they celebrate yet another goal.

“Yah, Kim Mingyu!”

Mingyu startles, twisting left and tripping over the ball in his haste to respond. Joshua shoots before he can get back control of the ball, scoring on Seungcheol’s face. He dramatically collapses and Joshua falls over him, but they’re all still laughing.

And Mingyu is left staring as Jeonghan runs his hands through his hair, hastily tying it back in a ponytail.

Have his eyes always been so round? Mingyu was so sure they were narrow—or maybe he’s always narrowing them at him, since he’s so set on antagonizing Mingyu all the time—but they look particularly round, his face particularly small too.

Ah, how annoying, of course Yoon Jeonghan would have the face of a would-be model. Of course he would be good at everything Mingyu liked, from law to soccer to basketball to tennis. Mingyu might have better luck picking up a new hobby than trying to best him at this point.

Which is not a concession, but an observation. Just as how Jeonghan’s famous for his good luck, Mingyu’s infamous for the inverse. The cards may be stacked against him, but he has no intention of losing.

He tears himself away from Jeonghan’s reluctant newfound beauty, pretends he doesn’t find him extremely pretty or hold his breath every time they block each other, and procedes to score twice, tying their total by half time.

By the time they reach the end of the second half, there’s no way to save the score. Seungcheol’s on his knees pleading for another chance, another half of a game to try and even it out.

He’s also throwing Mingyu under the bus by pleading with Jeonghan.

Jeonghan, who turns to Mingyu, his hair disheveled, bangs half out of his ponytail and his jacket nowhere in sight. He’s slimmer than Seungcheol and Joshua and all of Mingyu’s other friends who regularly go to the gym, but he’s run them all around and won.

“Mingyu, won’t you kneel?”

“Hyung, I—”

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow.

Mingyu gets on his knees for him.

Seungkwan shows up to their final team practice with a flyer and Jeonghan is despondent enough over Hyungwon quitting right before finals—a fact that had both Seungcheol and Mingyu in a fit of laughter for equally different reasons—that he doesn’t bother reading it entirely before he takes a picture and sends it to the group chat.

Wonwoo counts himself out immediately. Jisoo doesn’t, though Chan eliminates him by claiming that he has a cheating problem.

Jeonghan snorts. What does Chan even know. Jisoo might be a terrible cheater when it comes to games, but he’s never repainted an entire tennis court just to win a single game.

Still, there’s a difference between Jeonghan terrorizing Mingyu for his personal entertainment and Jisoo inflicting his shameless cheating on the general student body. Maybe it could be fun if Jisoo played too.

Seungcheol abstains too, but it’s more because he’s still not in the kind of shape where he sould be running around regularly, even if he convinced all of them to play futsal together just recently. Badminton’s harder on the knees, maybe.

Soonyoung, Chan, and Minghao count themselves out, citing an upcoming showcase and Hansol doesn’t even see the text by the time the sign up deadline. Seungkwan doesn’t sign up, distracted by one of the visiting dancers at Chan’s academy, even if Chan has been sulking about it for a week now.

In the end, Jeonghan and Mingyu are the only ones of their friends to sign up. The odds aren’t even all that great, so why is Jeonghan looking at their names on the sheet.

Right next to each other on top of that.

“Hyung—”

“No, I see it,” Jeonghan grits out.

Nowhere did he remember the campus-wide badminton tournament being a doubles tournament.

And even then, really, what were the odds that he get paired up with Kim Mingyu of all people? There were nearly a hundred people who signed up.

“How bad could it be?”

Mingyu really shouldn’t have said that. Jeonghan spends the first game stealing all of his shots and gets shoved out of the way every time he so much as gets the near the shuttle in the second half. Mingyu’s too tall to reach around either.

“Yah!” Jeonghan cries out when Mingyu slides and still misses.

“You couldn’t have gotten that either,” Mingyu dishes back, smug when Jeonghan’s next shot falls out of bounds.

Their opponents aren’t even from the law school. They might never see each other again.

Jeonghan shoves Mingyu to the side and he barely misses the shot. Mingyu raises his arm over Jeonghan’s face.

That’s probably for the best that they never see each other again. It’s got to be a disastrous first impression that they’re making on these strangers.

When they switch sides, things only end up picking up from there. Jeonghan’s used to competing with Mingyu, and that makes their teamwork disastrous, but they’re on the same page when it comes to winning.

And somehow, that circles back around to better teamwork.

Jeonghan slips between Mingyu and the net to hit the birdy across, scoring the final point and securing their advancement to the next round. For some reason, all he can think about is the heat of Mingyu against his back, his hands big and warm where they brushed against Jeonghan’s waist—to push him away, but still—

“Yah, that was mine!”

Well. Close enough, he spins Jeonghan around with the hands around his waist. Jeonghan raises an eyebrow and pretends it’s about the honorifics when he pushes at Mingyu’s chest. He’s so solid he doesn’t even budge. Jeonghan nearly trips backwards, if not for Mingyu’s hands holding him in place.

“Yah?”

He did warn Jeonghan that he doesn’t even use honorifics with Seungcheol half of the time, and he and Seungcheol have known each other longer than Jeonghan has known Seungcheol.

Mingyu’s lips fall into a pout. “Hyung, seriously?”

Jeonghan’s gaze drops down too. Mingyu’s unfairly pretty at sunset, glowing and golden, flushed slightly pink and warm where he’s pressed up against Jeonghan.

Okay, so Jeonghan might not be immune to how pretty he is, but that doesn’t mean anything. It’s not like he’s going to let Mingyu win whenever they play against each other now—or when they’re on the same team either, apparently.

The referee clears her throat. Jeonghan stumbles back first. Mingyu’s hands comically hover in the space he once stood, and the referee shoves a pack of Pocari Sweat into them.

“Congratulations!”

Jeonghan stares at the sports drinks, gaze slowly trailing up Mingyu’s sweaty form to meet his eyes, biting back a gleeful smile at the mirth sparkling in Mingyu’s pointy fangs, peeking out from his pink lips.

At least they end up winning!

“Myungho-hyung’s taken up hosting,” Seungkwan announces proudly. “He’s using your apartment tonight.”

Mingyu stares at him. Closes his eyes, wishes him away, and blinks them open. “Oh.”

“What?”

“You’re still here.” Mingyu throws a hand over his eyes as he rolls onto his back, pushing his laptop aside.

“Yah, you brat!”

Mingyu raises an eyebrow. “Yah?”

Yah? Jeonghan had asked, blinking up at him with those innocent almond eyes, lips pink and the tips of his long hair damp with sweat. An angel from hell, sent to personally torment Mingyu.

He hasn’t been able to get Jeonghan out of his head lately.

“Hyung, you’re cooking, right?”

This is news to Mingyu, who woke up at two in the afternoon with all intentions of wasting his day away catching up on work, and maybe puzzling out that tennis court with Jeonghan in the night.

Maybe. He’ll find a way to prove the lines aren’t straight without sounding crazy.

“What am I cooking for?” He asks, sitting up and crossing his legs. “If Myungho’s hosting, doesn’t he have a plan that doesn’t involve putting one of his friends to work?”

“He asked Seokminnie first,” Wonwoo calls out from his room—a sign of life, Mingyu was two hours short of checking to see if he’d woken up at all, after how late he was up playing some new game with Seungcheol.

Seungkwan nods helpfully like that makes Mingyu any more likely to agree. “If he already asked Seokminnie, why am I the backup?”

Seokmin’s good at cooking too. Lacks the confidence in it sometimes, but his food is good. Just because Mingyu’s more used to cooking for them doesn’t mean he won’t do it.

He doesn’t even get to answer, because Wonwoo walks out first, and the last thing Mingyu expects to see is Joshua, sheepish and blushing, tiptoe past them.

Huh.

Not that Mingyu can say he didn’t see that coming, but Jeonghan probably wouldn’t like that. Mingyu’s pretty sure he has—had?—a thing for Joshua.

Mingyu’s over Wonwoo and has been for a while now, but he is a little peeved that his roommate has somehow had time to hook up with a mutual friend and not enough to let his roommate know that he pulled out from a photography exhibition he talked Mingyu into doing with him.

“So?”

Mingyu rolls his eyes. Seungkwan doesn’t even need to ask—he already knows Mingyu can’t say no to his friends.

And that’s how he ends up spending the rest of his afternoon cooking. Minghao is the first to arrive at eight, with wine and appetizers, so that’s at least one less thing for Mingyu to worry about. Why they aren’t hosting in Minghao’s apartment is a mystery to Mingyu, but not one he plans on solving any time soon.

With Minghao comes Soonyoung—and Jihoon—which means he and Seungkwan immediately start bickering over games in the living room while Minghao sighs like a disapproving parent, like that’s ever made a difference in the past. Jihoon just cackles in the background delightedly, ever the enabler.

Hansol and Chan are the next to arrive, both of whom just blink up innocently at Mingyu when he asks them if they brought any food with them. Seokmin sneaks by behind them before he can get pulled into it, though he does pop into the kitchen intermittently to help stir or check on things.

Lovely dongsaengs. Great friends. But how, exactly, did Mingyu end up with the role of househusband to twelve grown men? He knows for a fact that Seokmin can cook, but he’s not the only other one. Joshua’s apparently pretty good too, even if Mingyu has yet to try any of his food. Junhui’s great—Mingyu loves his hotpot—and Minghao keeps both himself and Soonyoung alive, so he can’t be terrible.

Speaking of, Junhui’s the next to drop by. Seungkwan tackles him in a hug and drags him away before Mingyu can ask, but he does come back with a bag and sets it on the table. “There’s some mala xiang guo in there.”

Junhui is Mingyu’s favorite person.

“Jun hyung, I love you, thank you!”

Junhui ducks away bashfully, and Seungkwan’s laughter follows immediately.

That leaves four other people. Mingyu’s pretty sure Wonwoo and Joshua haven’t come back since they went out before he even started cooking, and he thinks it’s a safe assumption that they’ll come back together.

Mingyu leaves his spot in the kitchen to curl up in the corner of the sofa, watching Soonyoung and Chan battle it out on an old Just Dance track. He can’t even remember the last time any of them played, but Seungkwan refused to let them start karaoke until everyone’s here, so this is apparently the compromise.

Once Chan cements himself as the reigning champion, he also immediately loses to Hansol and demands a rematch. Mingyu ducks back into the kitchen to check on the food, frowning at the thud by the door.

The kitchen isn’t open to the living room, but it does paint a perfect picture of the front door. Namely, Wonwoo and Joshua stumbling through the front door, hands in each other’s pockets.

No, that’s not it. Wonwoo’s hands are tucked in Joshua’s back pockets. Joshua’s arms are thrown around his neck, pulling him down, and the thud by the door is Joshua’s back hitting the wall.

Or the door itself hitting the opposite wall.

Joshua and Wonwoo scramble apart, flushed red, and they disappear into the living room without a word to Mingyu—which is fine, Wonwoo lives here too, so he knows his way around—but Mingyu’s heart sinks when he realizes who must have seen.

Jeonghan and Seungcheol walk through, and Seungcheol makes a beeline for Mingyu, happily clinging onto him and asking him about the food. Mingyu answers distractedly, catching Seungcheol and hugging him back—he’s surely just stealing Mingyu’s warmth, but he’s very cutely doing it, so he gets a pass—his eyes following Jeonghan over Seungcheol’s shoulder.

He freezes when Jeonghan stares back, raising an eyebrow challengingly, but there’s no heat in it.

“S.Coups!” Soonyoung hollers from the other side. “Come beat the reigning champion!”

The way he’s yelling, you would think Soonyoung was the campion. Mingyu distinctly remembers him losing to Junhui in the first round and then proceeding to spend the next three complaining on how the game was actually quite different from actual dance, only shutting up when Chan won and pointing his remote at him.

“You’re up against Hansol,” Mingyu says, ruffling Seungcheol’s hair and dragging him into the living room. He pushes him forward and reclaims his spot in the corner of the couch, laughing when Seungcheol curses him out at the song choice.

“Yah, why do you always pull up the girl group dances when it’s my turn—”

Something soft falls against Mingyu’s knee. He looks down, eyes widening at the sight of Jeonghan sitting by his feet, his head against the outside of Mingyu’s thigh, and his knees pulled close to his chest. He’s quieter than usual, smiling only when he sees someone looking at him.

Mingyu doesn’t count, maybe, given his vantage point is literally overhead.

But Jeonghan only curls closer when Joshua laughs particularly loudly, cheering when he scores higher than his opponent—Seokmin; formerly undefeated, presently sulking—on a karaoke song. Wonwoo jumps to his feet and hugs him, and they both fall back against the other sofa together, a tangled heap of limbs.

Even when everyone shuffles through the kitchen to get their food, Mingyu finds his place on the couch again, and Jeonghan at his feet. He picks at his food, and Mingyu frowns, nudging him slightly.

He pouts when Jeonghan takes longer to look up. “Hyung, is it not good?”

Jeonghan startles, shaking his head. His eyes are comically wide when he looks at Mingyu, lips pink even in the hazy light. Something about mood lighting—Minghao only turned on the lamp in the corner. They could probably use another near the hallway, given that they are thirteen people.

“No, it’s good.” He forces a smile and Mingyu regrets asking. It’s all wonky and wrong, and Jeonghan’s eyes aren’t sparkling the way they usually do. His round cheeks look sallow and sunken. He doesn’t offer any excuses for why he’s picking at it if it’s so good, but Mingyu doesn’t ask.

“You can sit up here, you know,” He offers instead, patting the sofa beside him.

Jeonghan shakes his head. “It’s fine, Mingyu-ah.”

If he says so. It’s pretty obviously not fine though.

After dinner, Minghao puts on a movie Hansol’s been recommending they all watch, but Mingyu can’t tear his eyes away from Jeonghan long enough to pay it any attention. He’s half asleep against Mingyu’s leg, gaze stubbornly fixed on the floor.

He rubs his forehead with a pout when he starts dozing off and smacks his head against Mingyu’s knee.

Mingyu bends over, patting the top of his head as he whispers in his ear. His hair is soft. “Hyung.”

“What?” Jeonghan whispers back without looking up.

The sofa creaks ominously to their side. Mingyu doesn’t want to know how many of his friends have piled onto it—barely anyone’s on the floor and there’s still space next to him, even if it’s harder to see the TV from that angle.

“Just sit on top, you can lean against the sofa.”

Seungcheol’s at the other end of the couch Mingyu is on, already fast asleep. Chan’s clutching a pillow next to him, deeply invested in the movie, and Seungkwan is next to him, holding artificially still every time their arms brush against each other.

Mingyu hides a smile in Jeonghan’s hair.

“It’s fine,” he murmurs.

Soonyoung and Minghao are curled around each other in the armchair, and on the other, longer sofa, Seokmin, Jihoon, and Junhui. Hansol sprawls on the floor in front of them, but at the corner of that sofa—

Jeonghan stiffens, like he’s looking at the same thing Mingyu is.

Joshua, curled up on Wonwoo’s lap, at the opposite end of the long sofa.

Mingyu opens his mouth to say something, anything—he doesn’t even know what he could say—but Jeonghan’s head moves, and before he realizes, there’s a warmth at his side.

Jeonghan squeezes between the armrest and Mingyu, carefully angled away from him. Mingyu shifts slightly to give him more space, but a cold hand grabs his wrist first. He startles, accidentally bumping into Seungkwan, who gives him a scathing side eye, but remains otherwise distracted.

When Mingyu gets it together again, Jeonghan is still watching Joshua and Wonwoo, and unnecessarily tense considering they were supposed to relax tonight.

Plus, he did let Mingyu lean against him in the hospital.

That’s a stupid justification and Mingyu knows it too. He just doesn’t want to think about it. He still slips his arm around Jeonghan’s shoulders and carefully turns his head to rest against his shoulder instead. He also didn’t think so far ahead, because he now faces Jeonghan’s wide eyes pointed at him, his cheek against Mingyu’s shoulder.

“You were sleeping anyway, weren’t you?”

Mingyu doesn’t like how small Jeonghan seems. He’s always been larger than life, larger than Mingyu himself. When he wins, he glows and Mingyu hates seeing him like this. It’s not fair to hold it against him either, and it really did look uncomfortable to sit on the floor like that. Seungcheol falls asleep leaning against him all the time, maybe it’ll be more comfortable for Jeonghan to do that too.

Jeonghan squeezes Mingyu’s wrist gently, averting his gaze and leaning his weight against him. He’s asleep almost immediately, and Mingyu’s left with his hand hovering on the sofa behind Jeonghan’s shoulder and his right in his lap, with Jeonghan’s fingers loosely curled around his wrist.

Seokmin puts on a different movie next, one Seungkwan hasn’t seen yet, and one that Mingyu’s a little nostalgic for. Jeonghan is warm and steady at his side, but the movie steals his attention, and he isn’t sure when everyone starts leaving.

Wonwoo disappears into his room, and Mingyu can’t remember if Joshua is with him or not—he’s not in the living room and some of the others have already left. Seokmin and Hansol trail behind at the end, helping clean up.

Mingyu had offered to help when Jeonghan stirred slightly, but he only nestled back down again so they waved him off. Seungcheol waits for them to finish so he can drive them back, perched by Mingyu’s side as he scrolls through his feed.

“He’s really passed out,” Seungcheol remarks.

Mingyu hums, glancing over his shoulder at the miscellaneous dog videos. There’s a particularly cute golden retriever in one of them. Seungcheol sends it to Mingyu before he can even ask.

He tilts his head. “Should I wake him up?”

Mingyu shrugs his free shoulder. “You don’t have to.”

It’s late enough that Seungcheol probably has to drive Seokmin, Hansol, Junhui, and Chan back to their shared apartment, which leaves no room in the car for a sixth person. Mingyu’s crashed Jeonghan and Seungcheol’s apartment enough that he doesn’t mind.

“I can drop the others off and come back,” Seungcheol offers anyway.

Mingyu shakes his head. “No, it’s fine, I can take the couch or something.”

Seungcheol raises both his eyebrows, but says nothing. He slinks off with Seokmin, Junhui, Hansol, and Chan, with a promise to text Mingyu when he gets back home.

Mingyu sighs, running the back of his index finger over Jeonghan’s cheek. “Jeonghan hyung.”

He wrinkles his nose. Mingyu grins, delighted. “Jeonghan-ah.”

No response. Mingyu sighs again, leaning down to pull Jeonghan’s legs over his lap. He lifts him up, nearly stumbling backwards when he loses his balance—or because Jeonghan brings his arms up around Mingyu’s neck, Mingyu’s clumsiness has no one trigger—and carries him to his room.

He sets Jeonghan down on his bed and steps around to pull the blackout curtains shut before tugging the blanket over him. Only when he turns his back on the bed does something pull at his t-shirt.

“Where are you going?”

Jeonghan’s voice is gravely when he’s half asleep, low and goosebump inducing. Mingyu turns back around when the grip on the hem of his t-shirt loosens.

“Sofa,” Mingyu whispers, but Jeonghan just shuffles back slightly.

“Just sleep here,” he murmurs, looking up at Mingyu through half-lidded eyes. “You’re too big for the sofa.”

Mingyu stifles a surprised laugh as he sits down on the side of the bed. “I’m not a big dog.”

“Puppy,” Jeonghan slurs, turning his face into the pillow. Mingyu’s heart starts another marathon against his will, racing ahead as he leans back against his own pillow, lying on his back with Jeonghan by his side, on his side. “You’re such a puppy, Kim Mingyu.”

Mingyu muffles a whimper with the back of his hand, but Jeonghan’s already asleep again—for real this time, considering he doesn’t get up when Mingyu accidentally knocks his clock off the nightstand in his frantic scramble to set his phone there.

One more disastrous badminton game later, Jeonghan finds himself staring at their qualification to the next round.

“You’re not even that good at badminton,” Jeonghan grumbles, though he thinks the same of himself.

“Better than you,” Mingyu retorts stubbornly, squatting down and levelling the billiards cue at the table.

That’s the last thing Jeonghan wants to admit, to Mingyu of all people at that. Even if it’s true. Especially since it would be the score in his favor.

He can’t hold it against him either—Mingyu still hasn’t said anything about that night in his apartment, nor has he brought up either Jisoo or Wonwoo—not that Jeonghan wants to give him credit for that.

Not that he won’t either.

Seungcheol had asked him about it the next day, when he crept back into the apartment early in the morning, Mingyu still asleep on his side of the bed and Seungcheol blinking blearily up at him from the couch.

Why he fell asleep on the couch remains a mystery, but it was irrelevant at the time so Jeonghan hadn’t asked.

He’d also lied and said Mingyu slept on the couch, but Seungcheol had also given him a knowing look, so maybe they were even.

“Seungcheollie said you weren’t the best at billiards either,” Jeonghan grumbles. “So why aren’t you losing?”

He knows Mingyu saw him lose to Seungcheol the last time he had dropped by, but Seungcheol had been clear about Mingyu never wanting to play. Even now, he’d only stopped by since Seungcheol had mixed up his follow up appointment times and cancelled last minute. Not wanting to waste the reservation, Jeonghan invited Mingyu to join.

He regrets it now. Mingyu’s too good at this.

Mingyu leans over the table, the cue poised behind him. He’s posing too, much to Jeonghan’s detriment, with a raised eyebrow and rather glossy looking lips. “Why would I lose, Jeonghan-ah?”

He looked at Seokmin like this. Almost. His gaze is darker now, tongue darting out to wet his lips and tan skin glowing golden even in the atrocious rec room lighting.

“Cheeky brat,” Jeonghan retorts a minute too late.

Mingyu grins, light catching on those pointy fangs of his. “I think you need to get used to losing.”

The problem with their newfound, unspoken, truce, is that despite getting along better and arguing less—Seungcheol benefits greatly from this whenever there’s a debate—it’s only made their teamwork worse.

And the worst time for them to get worse is during the quarter-finals.

See, despite how much Mingyu respects Jeonghan as a law student and sees him as a friend, he doesn’t really understand him. So when Jeonghan hesitates to hit the birdy over the net, Mingyu just watches, thinking he’ll get it anyway.

But he doesn’t, and they’re now one point out from losing.

“Hyung, you could’ve hit that!” Mingyu calls out.

Jeonghan makes a face, pointing his racket at Mingyu. “Are you seriously telling me that when you missed three the last round?”

“I didn’t miss any this round.”

He scoffs. “It’s a team effort, Mingyu-ah, do you seriously think we’d be down if you weren’t just as bad?”

Mingyu pouts. That’s not true—he has played better this round. Jeonghan just lashes out when he gets cornered—something Mingyu is incredibly familiar with—but it still hurts to be thought so little of.

“Hyung, seriously—”

“Don’t think this means you’re winning.” Jeonghan cuts him off, running a hand through his hair with his free hand and spinning his racket with the next.

Well, fine. If he’s going to be like that, Mingyu doesn’t have to play nice either. He could bring up Joshua right now, if he didn’t think Jeonghan might actually hit him for it. He would deserve it, but it’s not like Jeonghan isn’t out of line right now too.

Mingyu snatches his next shot, sweeping between the net and Jeonghan. Jeonghan takes his revenge on the next one, feinting left and leaving Mingyu floundering to hit it back.

“Seriously?”

“I thought you weren’t going to miss any,” Jeonghan taunts back.

Mingyu rolls his eyes. “And I still haven’t!”

Maybe it’s because it’s been a while since they’ve hung out. Maybe it’s the fact that Mingyu didn’t realize that he was referring to their games against each other as hanging out.

Maybe it’s because Jeonghan’s been avoiding him since his loss at billiards. And if he weren’t a better friend, he would have called him out on it. They’ve both been busy with classes again, and that’s a better excuse than assuming Jeonghan’s a sore loser. Biliards wasn’t even the first time he lost.

It was the first time he seemed as distracted as he did. Any time Mingyu tried meeting his eye, he would look anywhere but at him.

He’s not really looking at Mingyu now either, three days after clearing their quarter finals match at a golf course of all places.

Oh, and how did they end up at the golf course in the first place?

Wonwoo and Joshua.

First, Wonwoo bailed on their photography exhibition after Mingyu signed up. He was upset for a week or so, and then got over it when he saw how much happier Wonwoo looked with Joshua. That happiness for his roommate quickly dissipated when it meant Joshua was always over—and as much as Mingyu liked the guy, he didn’t have a place to go every night. There was only so many nights he could ask Seungcheol to let him stay over, especially when Jeonghan would just ignore them.

Then, Wonwoo offered to make things up to Mingyu, because he knew he wasn’t being the best roommate. And somehow, making things up to him meant a golf voucher for three games of golf with a plus one at the same place Wonwoo’s dad frequented.

What a nice son.

Mingyu likes golf enough, just because it’s a thing people in his field like. He expected Jeonghan to know more about it, but they both are evenly matched for once.

Or all the time, if he thinks about it, but that means acknowledging his own losses and Mingyu doesn’t want to do that.

Not when he’s still basking in their advancement to the semi-finals.

(How the semi-finals will actually go is beyond him. Future problems for Future-Mingyu.)

“How do you think they water the fields?” Jeonghan asks suddenly, glancing over his shoulder.

Mingyu quickly averts his eyes from the lean line of his long legs. He’s not sure why he expected Jeonghan to show up in baggy clothes again, but he’s dressed like he wants to remind Mingyu of how they ended up here—the very beginning of it all, where he was so pretty he stunned Mingyu stupid—in slim white slacks and a gray graphic t-shirt tucked in. A stupid little belt too, to remind Mingyu that he’s got a slim waist.

His black hair’s long, flowing in the slight wind and making this all a very cinematic experience that’s left Mingyu wondering where the genre went wrong.

All these months later and Yoon Jeonghan is still exactly his type—

“With sprinklers, obviously.”

—and that means Mingyu will continue to spew nonsense in his presence.

“Sprinklers…” Jeonghan hums thoughtfully, and swings his club, nearly whacking Mingyu even as he sends the ball flying.

Has he lost it?

“Are your reflexes back from vacation?” Jeonghan calls out, already walking down the hill to the ball.

Mingyu gawks at him, then trips over his own foot. “Huh?”

“Maybe they’re only back occasionally,” he concedes. “You’re already up two strokes on the par, keep up, Kim Mingyu!”

Mingyu hits his ball into Jeonghan’s instead. Sends it spiralling down the green, away from the hole. See how he likes that for the par.

And he pretends he doesn’t stare intently at Jeonghan’s silhouette as he swings it back, narrowing the gap to tie them both two over the par.

Three times in a week is too much, even for an extrovert like Mingyu, surely?

And yet, he’s still sitting at the round table of the apartment recreation center, feet kicked up and leaning back as he scrolls on his phone.

Seungcheol leans over. “Beer?”

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow. “We’re starting already?”

“Considering the kind of poker Soonyoung hyung wants to play, might as well,” Seungkwan mutters darkly from next to Mingyu, who hides a laugh rather poorly at Soonyoung’s expense.

Jeonghan takes the bottle from Seungcheol, taking a single sip and setting it down. He won’t be so far gone after a bottle that he’ll lose, but there’s no point wasting a clear mind so fast.

A foot nudges his under the table.

Jeonghan looks up to meet a familiar pair of eyes.

Especially considering who he’s playing.

“I’ll play dealer,” he offers, taking the combined stack of cards off Soonyoung’s hands. At least he knows how to shuffle—Soonyoung looked two seconds away from tossing the cards onto the table and mixing them up by hand. It would’ve taken much longer and Jisoo and Minghao already look pleasantly flushed.

That, and he still doesn’t really remember the rules. Mingyu and Seungcheol had enthusiastically explained them, but Jeonghan hadn’t been able to look away from the expanse of tan skin exposed by Mingyu’s chest, the top three buttons left open and a gold chain hanging low over it. He kept moving his hands too, and they sparkled, covered in rings.

Oh, so that’s his move?

And he claims Jeonghan is a cheater.

“You still have to play,” Mingyu whines, a slight lisp coming through. Jeonghan looks up sharply—how much has he had to drink already? His tolerance had to be higher.

That was one of the things they’d never competed in. Jeonghan new better than to bet on his own drinking tolerance—and Mingyu went to the gym more often than some of the college athletes.

He waves him off, stacking two cards down in front of each of them. “I’m playing, I’m playing.”

He waits for everyone to write their bets down—apparently the difference between poker and the strip poker variation Soonyoung wanted to try out was that instead of chips, they’ll bet a piece of clothing and for every card flipped over, another will be added at the end.

Joshua backs out first, keeping all his clothes on. He’s the only one—Jeonghan flips the first three cards over.

Seven of hearts. Ten of spades. Eight of spades.

He’s got a four of clubs and a king of hearts in his hand. If he folds here, he can take his socks off and wait till the next round.

With him, Jihoon, Wonwoo, Minghao, Seokmin, and Hansol fold. Their socks all come off, except for Minghao who gets away with a single bracelet.

Jeonghan takes advantage of his position as dealer to observe the players. Junhui keeps chewing on his straw but otherwise is unreadable—to no surprise. He’s often won many a mafia game this way.

Chan and Seungkwan seem to be caught up in their own game of cat and mouse, ignoring the others as they stare each other down. Jeonghan’s pretty sure neither of them have the winning hand—mostly because they just learned the rules with him today.

Soonyoung is Soonyoung. He’s unreadable—not because he knows what he’s doing, but because he’s unpredictable and competitive. He’s smart enough to stay on, but not smart enough to fold when he probably could get away with less.

Seungcheol doesn’t look like he has a winning hand, but he’s always been too competitive for his own good. Being seated between Soonyoung and Mingyu probably doesn’t help.

He flips the next card over. Three of diamonds.

Seungkwan hisses through his teeth and folds. Chan grins brightly, before he looks at his own cards and groans.

“Hah!” Seungkwan cheers triumphantly, nearly knocking his chair over when he stands up. “You thought you were going to win, didn’t you?”

Chan makes a face, but stands up anyway. “Kwan-hyung, you really thought you could beat me?”

Jeonghan doesn’t point out that neither of them won. They have to take off three pieces of clothing—one for each card put down—and they do that silently, socks, bracelets, and jackets coming off first.

He flips the final card over: Five of diamonds.

Soonyoung raises the stakes. “Raise by three.”

Jeonghan looks at Seungcheol first. He shakes his head and then nods sharply.

“Call.”

He raises an eyebrow, turning to Mingyu.

Something burns in the pit of his stomach when he watches the edges of Mingyu’s lips tick up into a smile, one so cocky Jeonghan should hate it. He tilts his head curiously, leaning back in his chair. Soonyoung’s arms are planted on the table.

He raises an eyebrow back, like he wants to say do you really think he’s going to beat me? “Call.”

They flip their cards over, and Soonyoung whimpers. With his raised three, plus 5 for all five cards on the table, plus one for the buy in, he’s down nine pieces of clothing.

Jeonghan hopes he’s wearing nine pieces of clothing. If not, this is about to get awkward really fast.

“Yah, Mingyu-ah, that’s not right.”

Mingyu makes a face. “Hyung, no one asked you to bet it all in the first round.”

Soonyoung lifts a finger to point menacingly, but Jihoon reaches around and pulls him back. “Alright Tiger, you got nine pieces of clothing to take off?”

Soonyoung shuffles his socks off, and then slowly reaches for his necklace. He frowns slowly before he reaches for his necklace.

“Hyung,” Minghao starts slowly. “I don’t think you have nine.”

Soonyoung seems to have come to the same conclusion. He sits back and accepts that he won’t be playing next round.

Mingyu laughs, low and under his breath. Jeonghan’s only heard rumors about their—Soonyoung and Mingyu’s—rivalry when it comes to mafia, but he can’t get the sound of his laughter out of his head.

It’s not like Mingyu won either, to be fair. He just happens to have nine different things to take off—Seungcheol claims the victory.

Mingyu slowly peels off his socks, three different rings, a belt, two bracelets, and his watch. He shrugs his hat off easily—though that was likely for the game since it matches nothing else about his outfit and he wasn’t wearing it when Jeonghan walked in.

Nine different things.

He deals another round of cards, skipping over Soonyoung who quietly watches over Minghao’s shoulder. His cards are better this round—a six of diamonds and a seven of diamonds—but this is a game of luck, so it doesn’t matter until he flips the first three over.

Minghao, Seokmin, and Wonwoo drop out even before he can flips the first three over.

A three of clubs, Jack of diamonds, and five of clubs.

Jeonghan blames the sound of his laughter for why he doesn’t fold here. Jihoon folds, shucking his beanie, sweatshirt, and shirt off. Seungcheol eyes the beanie wistfully, but makes no move to throw his cards down.

Queen of diamonds.

Hansol quietly folds, and undresses accordingly. Seungkwan and Chan follow suit, then immediately sulk when they realize what taking off four more articles of clothing would mean. They join Soonyoung as they walk around the table, deliberately misleading everyone as they look at the cards.

Joshua groans and folds, carefully sliding his belt and socks off. He needs to take two more things off, so he goes for his sweater, and then sighs and unbuttons his shirt. Apparently, he’s come prepared with a tank top underneath.

Jeonghan doesn’t even realize at first, gaze trained on Mingyu’s hands. His cards are facedown on the table and his arms crossed over his chest, and his necklace dangling over his arms. He hasn’t even looked at his cards even once this round.

When he looks up, Mingyu’s already looking at him, lips parted slightly and head tilted cutely. Like a puppy.

He flips the next card over before he can continue that train of thought.

Jack of clubs.

Jeonghan has a two pair when he flips his cards over. But so does Seungcheol, so it’s a tie at best. Junhui immediately drops out and joins their youngest and Soonyoung. Seungkwan cheers brightly, throwing an arm around Junhui and tugging him into a half hug like he won.

Jeonghan taps his fingers against the table impatiently, waiting for the two cards still facedown on the table. “That bad?”

Mingyu winks and flicks them over.

Straight.

Seungcheol throws his head back with a groan. Jeonghan stares at the cards blankly, then Mingyu.

Your move, Mingyu mouths and Jeonghan shivers.

He almost thought about raising the stakes at the very end. A two pair was more than enough to bet on. He’s already lost his socks, so he somehow has to cough up five other things this round. Two bracelets are the first to go. Then his watch.

“Two more, Seungcheol-ah,” Mingyu sings, practically floating. His grin sharpens when he faces Jeonghan head on. “Jeonghan-ah.”

How annoying, Mingyu still has a pair of sunglasses on his head. And he didn’t even win last round.

Jeonghan gives up and loses his pants. Seungcheol follows quickly, crossing his big arms and sulking in the chair next to Mingyu.

The next round takes out Jisoo, Hansol, Seokmin, and Minghao. Only Wonwoo, Seungcheol, and Mingyu remain.

Technically, Jeonghan’s still in the running too. He’s just been folding on the first card for the three rounds that followed Mingyu’s first victory.

“I think we need more drinks,” Seokmin mutters, glancing at the sight in front of them. Jeonghan snorts. “Does the fridge have anymore or should we send someone else to get more?”

“There’s more!” Chan calls out, passing out another round of drinks.

Jeonghan grabs the can of beer pushed in front of him and immediately cracks it open. The room’s hotter now than when they started, which he’s sure has nothing to do with Mingyu’s dark gaze on him instead of his cards. He takes a sip and licks his lips, regretting it immediately when he looks down at his own cards.

“Fold,” he mutters, setting them down.

Mingyu raises an eyebrow and sweeps another round, raising until everyone folds. And then another, this time with nothing more than the confidence of a single pair.

The only bright side is that Seungcheol keeps folding too, sulking when he looks at his cards, and then pouting when he looks back at his clothes.

“Aigoo, Choi Seungcheol, you’re not better than me,” Jeonghan mutters under his breath, but Seungcheol hears anyway and launches into a tirade about not being called by his full name.

And Mingyu stacks another win to his list.

Wonwoo offers to drive a few of the others back when it starts getting late and it looks like Mingyu has no intention of letting up. Joshua, Minghao, Seokmin, and Hansol take him up on it while Junhui offers to drive Chan and Seungkwan back while he’s heading out too.

He also offers to take Soonyoung out, but Soonyoung’s all too dedicated to staying longer and draining Seungcheol’s clothes—he’s apparently given up on Mingyu, who still has those stupid sunglasses in his hair.

Jihoon considers staying back when he sees the potential for the Soonyoung could get himself into, but when he sees how drink he is too, he ends up dragging him out.

“I’ll get you next time, Kim Mingyu!” He calls out, clinging to the recreation room door frame while Jihoon practically carts him off.

Mingyu just laughs. “Try again later, hyung!”

Jeonghan’s pretty sure Mingyu planned on staying the night with Seungcheol anyway just to take him to his physical therapy appointment in the morning.

“Alright, ajhussi, let’s go,” Mingyu says, dusting his legs off with the intention of standing up. Jeonghan hides a laugh at Seungcheol’s affronted cry.

“Ajhussi?!”

“You’re the oldest one here, Cheol-ah.” Jeonghan snorts.

“Two more rounds,” Seungcheol insists. “Jeonghannie’s been folding every round.”

Mingyu tilts his head curiously—his hair’s loose now, the slight waves slipping out from behind the sunglasses pushed up. His loose printed white shirt is unbuttoned low to his sternum, and even his tank top falls slightly lower, exposing the sharp lines of his chest and the chain hanging over it.

He’s pouting, which contrasts so starkly with his physique and his outfit that Jeonghan lets his guard down. “Two more rounds, hyung?”

Jeonghan sighs, stacking the cards back again. He’s already shuffling. “Fine. Two more rounds.”

He flips his hards over. King of hearts and a three of clubs. He opens his mouth to fold, but pauses when he looks up.

Mingyu’s still looking at his own cards, his lower lip pulled under his teeth, and Jeonghan doesn’t know why he does it, but he reaches out slowly, trailing his toe up an ankle under the table. Mingyu startles, slamming his knee into the top of the table and looking up with wide eyes.

Cute.

Jeonghan flips the first three cards over. He doesn’t know what Seungcheol’s doing, but admittedly, he doesn’t except him to fold immediately.

“Didn’t you just ask for another two rounds?” He asks, raising an eyebrow appraisingly.

Seungcheol rolls his eyes, and reaches out to grab another beer, passing one to Mingyu too when he asks. Their apartment is hardly a five minute walk back, so none of them need to drive back. But now that Jeonghan’s looking, both Seungcheol and Mingyu look a little flushed. Seungcheol’s paler so he turns pink quickly, but even in the rec room lighting, Mingyu looks pink too.

He steals the bottle in front of him for a sip. Mingyu fumbles when he reaches to pull it back, and accidentally tips his hand in Jeonghan’s favor.

Oh?

“Raise two,” Jeonghan offers, and Mingyu agrees absentmindedly, only to fold when he flips the next card over.

“Five off, Kim Mingyu,” Jeonghan insists, tapping his nails against the table and waiting.

Mingyu whimpers, unbuttoning his shirt first. Jeonghan can’t tear his eyes away from the way he flexes, that tank top sticking to his frame. His chain is the next to go, but he frowns before reaching for anything else.

Jeonghan can’t help but lean forward, still tapping his fingers expectantly. “Three more, Mingyu-ah.”

Mingyu grumbles and mutters something under his breath that he can’t quite make out and stands up to shuffle his pants off.

Jeonghan does look away here, because Seungcheol isn’t even paying attention anymore and no one else is in the room. It’s too intimate that he be the only person to watch Mingyu undress, even if that was the point of the game.

Okay, so he tries. But Mingyu’s either flexing on purpose or he’s really just that much bigger than Jeonghan thought he was, and he looks—

Jeonghan bites his lip. Her looks really good.

Two more. Mingyu reaches for tank top and Jeonghan should really look away here, but the tank top knocks off his sunglasses and exposes his abs, and he can’t.

What happens next is out of his control—Seungcheol knocks his beer over and it spills onto Mingyu’s lap the second he sits down. He yelps and shoots back up to his feet, covering himself with his hands and whining when all Seungcheol can do is laugh.

“Yah, Seungcheol hyung!”

Seungcheol folds over, laughing even harder. Mingyu turns his puppy eyes on Jeonghan, who can’t help but join in.

This is all so ridiculous. The game, their rules, the drink, it’s all so ridiculous that he really can’t hold himself back.

“Jeonghan hyung,” Mingyu whines pitifully.

There isn’t anything Jeonghan can do to help him now. “Yah, come here.”

Mingyu obediently shuffles around the large round table, hiding behind Jeonghan like he thinks Seungcheol has plans on using the last beer bottle standing as a hose. He also slips the beer soaked underwear off and uses his abandoned tank top—Seungcheol very helpfully throws it over, despite his next fit of laughter—to wipe the beer off.

His hands are warm when they clutch onto Jeonghan’s shoulders, broad palms encasing the entire joint.

Jeonghan hasn’t thought about this before. This, meaning Mingyu’s naked body. He’s well aware of how hot he is and his campus reputation as the sexiest future lawyer precedes him, but he’s also currently cowering behind Jeonghan like a quivering puppy.

He’s endearing. And that’s somehow worse than just being hot, because he can’t ignore it now.

Mingyu spends the next week avoiding Jeonghan.

He doesn’t mean to at first, but everytime he walks by Seungcheol and Jeonghan’s apartment, all he can think about is how embarrassing it was to stand naked behind Jeonghan, half covered in beer.

He’s also avoiding Seungcheol, for equally obvious, albeit different, reasons. He’s sent Mingyu numerous sobbing stickers and apologies but they both know Mingyu’s just embarrassed.

It doesn’t matter how embarrssed he is when they have to get through another badminton game today though. The semi-finals of this stupid doubles badminton tournament that he’s still not sure how he ended being a part of. Seungkwan’s the one who usually like badminton—he’s the one who sent the flyer to their group chat too, but he’s somehow now the one shuffling around the court at the last minute.

Second to last minute. Mingyu makes it there just in time after dragging his feet outside. Jeonghan pulls him closer with a hand around his arm—all Mingyu can focus on is the difference in size. Jeonghan’s hand doesn’t wrap around his upper arm fully, and he keeps subconsciously kneading the muscle there.

“Where the hell were you?”

Mingyu smiles sheepishly. “Sorry, was running late.”

“Yeah, why—”

The announcer cuts Jeonghan off and Mingyu steps away with a deep sigh that he hopes goes unnoticed. His gratefulness dissipates rapidly.

Being back on the badminton court brings back the weirdness from the last time they were here. Their teamwork is worse than before, and Mingyu’s heart isn’t even in the game.

It’s almost like they’ve regressed to a few months ago, with their screaming matches outside the library over debates and petty squabbling over the soccer field.

Maybe it’ll get better when this all ends.

“Yah.” Mingyu flinches at the racket jabbing into his side. “What the hell is wrong with you, you could’ve gotten that one?”

Mingyu scowls. “You could’ve gotten the one before it.”

“That’s not the point!”

He pushes the racket away. “What does it matter anyway?”

“We’re losing!”

Mingyu makes a face. “Oh, come on. Are we losing, or this is about you losing?”

It’s a low blow. He wishes he could take it back the second he says it, especially when Jeonghan’s face crumples and he steps away.

“Fuck you, Kim Mingyu.”

Yeah, fuck him. Mingyu wishes he would. But also, yeah, he gets it.

“No, I just—does it really matter if we win or lose here?”

He can’t read Jeonghan’s expressions anymore. He probably deserves it too—except some part of him thinks that Jeonghan’s the one who’s been stringing him along all this time. Mingyu just thought he was pretty and embarrassed himself when he accidentally signed up for too many soccer slots.

Jeonghan was the one who claimed everything for the month and kept baiting Mingyu into it.

“Do you really not care?” Jeonghan’s voice is small.

Yes, Mingyu should say.

He just shrugs.

Jeonghan looks away and makes no attempt to hit the birdie, even when it falls directly in front of him. He won’t even look at Mingyu, and when they unsurprisingly lose, he just picks up his racket, shakes hands with their opponents, and leaves.

He also takes their victory Pocari Sweat with him. Mingyu watches him go and wishes he would have left just one bottle behind.

He’s kind of thirsty.

Okay, he also wishes Jeonghan would’ve stayed back so they could’ve complained about how unfair that loss was together. They’re not strangers antagonizing each other in random sports anymore—Mingyu does think of Jeonghan as one of his closest friends.

Maybe it does suck. Just a little. Losing, that is. Because now they really have no excuse to keep meeting up weekly, especially now that they’ve dialed back their random basketball slash soccer slash volleyball slash every possible game time.

But that’s the point, isn’t it? He’s tired of Jeonghan seeing it all as a game.

Mingyu doesn’t want to just be another victory to the already undefeated law student.

He blames the loss on why he agrees to go out to karaoke and he has nothing to blame for why he lets Seungcheol drive them over, sitting in the middle backseat while Jeonghan takes the front passenger seat.

He doesn’t even look at Mingyu.

If Seungcheol notices that it’s awkward between them, he doesn’t say anything. And if he’s not saying anything, maybe Jeonghan told him first.

Somehow, that doesn’t make Mingyu feel any better.

His confusion only grows when they fill up all the seats and Jeonghan and Minghao are both still short a seat. Jeonghan looks around the room, and then pointedly doesn’t look at Mingyu when he sits down on his lap. Mingyu’s hands flutter around him, but Jeonghan just sits straight, his legs stretched out between Mingyu’s and his hands just set on his thighs.

Mingyu eventually reaches behind himself to plant his hands against the chair instead. Jeonghan’s at least kind enough to not move much; Mingyu’s legs are still very sore from last night at the gym.

Oh, you didn’t think it was about something else, did you?

Okay, so Mingyu’s also grateful for that. Jeonghan had already implied something of that variety when they were in the hospital and Mingyu hadn’t been able to get that image out of his head for weeks. The last thing he needs to imagine is the opposite now.

Jeonghan nudges Mingyu. “Did you want gopchang?”

Mingyu startles, half because he didn’t expect Jeonghan to talk to him and half because Jeonghan leaning back to whisper in his ear had scared him. He nods once, then freezes when he realizes how close their faces are.

Jeonghan has really long eyelashes, and his eyes are perpetually round. He’s always been pretty, but he’s slightly pouting as he waits and Mingyu can’t help but find him cute.

He turns around the second Mingyu nods though. He relays their orders to Chan, who lost their game of rock, paper, scissors, to pay.

The strobe lights above them spin purple and blue, and then red, before spinning back to purple. The shadows cast over that face Mingyu could recognize even with his eyes closed paint him like they’re in a dream.

“Pretty,” Mingyu murmurs under his breath.

Jeonghan stiffens, but says nothing. A moment later, he relaxes, leaning back slightly against Mingyu’s chest. And for the next three songs, he stays there, only leaning forward to grab his drink and falling back against Mingyu every time.

Mingyu wonders if it’s the alcohol getting to him. Jeonghan’s hands find their way to his hands, pulling them around his waist and patting his hands when he leaves them there.

If he was sober, he would have held his breath. Mingyu’s just on the right side of tipsy to lean forward and giggle when Seokmin ropes Hansol into a dramatic rendition of a girl group song, curling around Jeonghan’s back and pressing his laugh into his neck.

Jeonghan shivers and tilts his head slightly to the side, just enough that Mingyu notices. He still won’t look at Mingyu for longer than a fraction of a second, but Mingyu thinks his ears look a little red.

His probably are too. And the lights spinning above them turn red every once in a while too.

Jeonghan’s too warm for him to write it off so easily. And Mingyu’s too warm to let him go so easily even when he needs to use the restroom. He gets lucky when Jeonghan gets up first, walking to the table on the other side to grab another plate of skewers. Mingyu adjusts his pants when he stands up, shaking the pant legs out longer than he needs to, and then tries slipping past Jeonghan to get to the door.

A hand catches around his wrist. Mingyu looks down and blinks twice, looks up and his eyes widen.

Jeonghan drops it when he realizes, pulling back like he’s been burned. Mingyu doesn’t know what to make of it, but he still feels the phantom warmth against his skin as he walks to the restroom.

The restroom door opens when he’s busy fighting with the sink to give him just a little more water please, just to get the last bit of soap off his hands. He doesn’t look up. It closes with a loud thud, and then there’s a click.

He does look up at that.

Jeonghan’s eyes are dark—they’re usually lighter than Mingyu’s, something more amber—and his cheeks are flushed. His bangs are parted slightly to the sides, pulled down straight like he’s been running his hands through them.

Without the colorful lights overhead, he can see something else too. A gray zip up hoodie, one side falling off the shoulder, and his hands tucked in the pockets.

Mingyu gulps, sticking his hands in the air dryer and meeting Jeonghan’s gaze through the mirror when he looks up. “That’s not yours.”

“Oh?” It runs a size big on Mingyu, oversized on Jeonghan. 

“But you knew that.”

He’s barely pulled his hands out of the dryer, barely even pivoted to turn around when Jeonghan steps forward. “How would I know that? It fits me well, don’t you think?”

He’s stealing Mingyu's line, and Mingyu should think about it more, but Jeonghan’s hands reach for Mingyu’s shoulders, threading in the hair at the base of his neck and he yanks him forward. Mingyu stumbles and catches himself with arms wrapped around Jeonghan’s waist between the hoodie and his t-shirt, bending him back as he leans over.

Jeonghan’s nose brushes against his, breath catching as Mingyu blinks down at him. His chest heaves against Mingyu, who’s equally breathless. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but Jeonghan leans in first, lips slotting between his.

Mingyu’s arms tighten and Jeonghan keens, pulling back only enough to slip his tongue in, hands sliding up to tighten in Mingyu’s hair. He stumbles back until his back hits the wall, and Jeonghan only chases after him, lips hot against his even when Mingyu leans back slightly to catch his breath.

It’s only when Jeonghan winces and steps down—when had he raised on his toes to reach up?—that he pulls away entirely.

“Fuck.” He looks up at Mingyu, chest heaving and breaths stuttered, lips a glossy pink to boot.

Mingyu’s too busy catching his breath. The room’s spinning—a nice reminder that they’re still in the restroom and Jeonghan’s beachy perfume isn’t so close to block out the smells around him—and he’s unsteady when he steps forward.

Jeonghan flinches back. Mingyu falters. He’s not so drunk and he doesn’t think Jeonghan is either.

“Jeonghan—”

The door swings open. Jeonghan spooks, and bursts out of the room at the same time that Soonyoung swaggers in.

“Oh, Kim Mingyu—”

By the time Mingyu gets back to their karaoke room, Jeonghan is sitting in the middle of the booth and leaning against Minghao with the hoodie zipped almost all the way up. Mingyu tries catching his eye, tries sneaking a glance when he thinks he might be looking.

Jeonghan doesn’t look at him for the rest of the night.

Jeonghan takes his turn avoiding Mingyu for a week, only for their past competitive history to come back to bite.

Wonwoo’s golf voucher, which he gifted Mingyu, and therefore made Jeonghan’s problem, apparently expires tomorrow.

And they’ve both got class tomorrow, so there’s no way to put this off.

Technically, Jeonghan could let the credits expire. But the voucher was expensive and Mingyu was moping about something and had been kind enough to overlook Jeonghan’s own moping.

It feels like so long ago that he first wondered if Mingyu likes Wonwoo.

He can’t think that anymore, not when he knows how he tastes. Jeonghan isn’t that much of a coward.

He also can’t, however, use up the golf credits on his own. The voucher was some stupid couple’s voucher—why Wonwoo didn’t just use it on him and Jisoo remains a mystery to him, especially since Jisoo’s exactly the type to be wooed by some pretentious shit like golf or perfume making—and Mingyu was the owner of it, Jeonghan the guest.

He groans, typing out a text and then throwing his phone to the end of the sofa. Seungcheol looks up.

“Why are you sulking too?”

Jeonghan sits up abruptly, reaching for the phone again when it lights up. “I’m not sulking.”

He should ask who else is sulking. He also doesn’t need to ask, not when it’s Seungcheol who’s bringing it up with him.

He sighs. “I’m not sulking. And if he has a problem, he can say it himself.”

Seungcheol raises his eyebrows, smiling all smugly like he’s forgotten just how long they’ve lived together and how much ammunition Jeonghan has if he wanted to embarrass him. “I didn’t mention who.”

Neither did , Jeonghan thinks and scowls. “Yah, Choi Seungcheol.”

He pouts immediately. “You and Mingyu are so mean, really.”

If he really wanted to be mean, he could ask what Mingyu had to do with any of this.

He’s not that mean.

One last time?

Under it, in Mingyu’s shorthand: Fine.

Jeonghan scrambles off the sofa before Seungcheol can deduce anymore incriminating evidence. His exist is probably incriminating enough as it is, but he’s lucky enough to not run into Mingyu on the walk to the golf club.

He’s less lucky when he arrives second, only to find Mingyu already waiting there.

“Oh, you actually showed up.”

Okay, so now’s probably a good time to back up a little. If it weren’t so embarrassing to explain, Jeonghan probably would.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He feigns ignorance. Poorly, if Mingyu’s mirthless laughter is anything to go by. “Hey, I’ve never stood you up.”

That sounds too much like something else.

But then again, Jeonghan did kind of make it something else.

It wasn’t even his fault!

Did Mingyu know what he looked like under those purple and blue lights, puppy eyes following Jeonghan everywhere, the way he curled around Jeonghan like he was something precious to hold close? What was Jeonghan supposed to do, not kiss him?

“I already know you’re good at lying, you don’t have to rub it in.” Mingyu stands up, rubbing his face in his hands. “Let’s go.”

Jeonghan frowns and grabs his arm when he starts walking, stumbling when Mingyu doesn’t stop. Right, he’s stronger. He just always submits so easily that Jeonghan forgets. He walks a little faster to catch up.

“What do you mean—I’m not lying!”

Mingyu sighs wearily, swinging around. Jeonghan ducks. The club is in his hands and he would never hit anyone with it—Mingyu cowers behind Seungcheol when he sees bugs and he’s run away from multiple courts screaming about bugs and waited for Jeonghan to text him the all clear before even coming back—but his expression isn’t one Jeonghan’s seen before.

It’s not one he wants to see again either, but he’s got a lot of audacity suggesting that Jeonghan lied to him.

“Oh?” Mingyu drops the club down and pulls his phone out. Specifically, he pulls out their chat window and scrolls through their most recent history.

It’s a little one-sided.

(There had been more than one reason Jeonghan was avoiding reaching out.)

“That’s not a lie,” Jeonghan retorts. “You disappeared too.”

He means after their misadventures in strip poker. And then their misadventures in his dreams where Jeonghan laid Mingyu out underneath him.

“I didn’t!”

Jeonghan takes a step closer, scoffing. “Sure you did. We live in the same apartment complex and I didn’t see you around for a week. You skipped classes that week.”

“That’s not a crime!” Mingyu straightens, towering over Jeonghan again. There’s a bottle in his hand now, one that Jeonghan will look back in hindsight and regret not stealing beforehand. If only to same himself his upcoming embarrassment.

“Neither is not responding to a text!”

Mingyu’s face crumples, but he composes himself quickly. “So the next time you text me, I’ll just ignore you and ghost you everywhere until I need something.”

That hurts a little.

“I didn’t ghost you,” Jeonghan protests, but it’s weaker than before. “Yah, Kim Mingyu, are you seriously that upset about it? Weren’t we both—”

Drunk, he wants to say, but the way Mingyu’s face falls, the anger dissipating and giving way to real hurt makes him regret it all.

“Oh, so that’s your angle.” Mingyu takes another step forward. They’re toe to toe now and the last time they were things ended quite differently from the direction this is taking.

“You disappeared too,” Jeonghan repeats weakly. “After poker. You’re not—I’m not—We were both drunk.”

“I was embarrassed!” Mingyu throws his hands up.

At this point, if either of them had looked up and back at the club, a few hundred yards from the par they were on, they might have seen that everyone had already gone inside. That one of the employees was waving their hands frantically.

“What the hell do you have to be embarrassed for?” Jeonghan throws his own club down. “‘Oh, I’m Kim Mingyu, I go to the gym and I’m so strong and sexy and I have such big muscles’—yah, are you serious?”

“That’s different and you know it!” Mingyu’s chest is heaving again, and it’s so different seeing it in daylight that Jeonghan’s heart skips a beat. “Fine, the next time I kiss you, I’ll just disappear until our next membership runs out. We’re only good for that, aren’t we?”

“I never said that!”

“Haven’t you implied that enough?”

Mingyu’s eyes look even sadder now and Jeonghan hates that he thinks that they look a little glossy because he really might not forgive himself if he makes Mingyu cry. Especially because this is all a terrible misunderstanding—and a little bit his fault too.

Jeonghan opens his mouth to protest further, to complain, but Mingyu shrieks first and something cold presses against his back.

Well, it’s more accurate to say something wet and cold splashes against his back. And then it moves up and sprays over him and—

Jeonghan remembers repainting the tennis court. He conveniently has, apparently, forgotten that he also changed the timers on the sprinklers.

Something else sprays him simultaneously when he trips forward with a yelp, slamming into Mingyu.

Mingyu, and the bottle of Pocari Sweat in his hand.

Jeonghan scrambles back, tripping on the wet grass. The sports drink rolls slowly down his neck and it’ll all feel terrible later but the sprinklers are facing away, so maybe he can make a break for it.

He doesn’t even care that his shoe falls off in the middle of it—it’s some stupid pair he bought just for their golf games—and now that he’s thinking about it, he hates how stupid it sounds.

He does snatch up the plastic bottle, and meets Mingyu’s eyes in the middle of doing so.

Mingyu fell when he slipped too, they were too close together for him to not have, and he’s crouched down ready to pounce. Jeonghan turns on heel and sprints for the club—if he’s lucky, he’ll make it back first, especially since it looks like Mingyu drove over.

Mingyu sprints after him, hardly a second behind him as he’s hot on his heels and Jeonghan can’t help the way he laughs, even if it’s all so messed up now. Mingyu also slips in the final stretch and he’s got Jeonghan’s shoe, so Jeonghan takes that as his sign to keep running and get the hell out of there before he makes up ground. He probably could outrun Jeonghan if he had to and Jeonghan doesn’t need to find out.

The receptionist looks horrified when he runs past, though she does call him back and ask him for his pass. She also makes note of his name.

(He’s pretty sure they’ve been banned for life. He couldn’t care less.)

Seungcheol laughs for five minutes straight when he finds out Jeonghan, soaked in Pocari sweat and missing a shoe, got kicked out of the golf course of all places.

Jeonghan, understandably so, finds the situation less entertaining.

“Yah!”

Seungcheol doubles over, clutching his sides as he gasps for air. He looks hideous like this, cheeks all scrunched up and puffed out with his mouth open wide, a gaping, traitorous, raccoon that Jeonghan has to live with for at least another two years.

A drop of that stupid sports drink rolls down his neck, reminding him of how sticky he already is. Maybe he’ll make Seungcheol clean up his mess, since he seems to find it so entertaining.

Seungcheol falls off the sofa.

Okay, so it’s not that funny.

“It’s that funny,” Hansol declares, chopsticks full of Mingyu’s ramen.

Why is he eating Mingyu’s ramen?

Minghao just laughs in the background, giggling as he falls against the sofa mid-conversation with Soonyoung, likely, since he was already giggling before Mingyu walked in.

Mingyu scowls, pointing with the shoe he managed to grab before running out. “No, it’s not.”

“Hyung, it’s even funnier, actually,” Seungkwan adds, because he’s the bane of Mingyu’s existence and takes great pleasure in watching Mingyu humiliate himself in public. Never mind that he’s been the instigator in some of these instances too, claiming that it’s good for Mingyu because he gets off on that.

Let Mingyu set the record straight: he does not get off on that. He has very normal sexual interests that do not involve public humiliation, not the way Boo Seungkwan would like the public to believe. He’s just better at taking a joke than any of his friends, who enjoy teasing him a little too much anyway. They should fix that maybe.

Actually, as a matter of fact, why are his sexual interests any of the public’s interest?

“You’re popular, hyung,” Seungkwan sings, ducking behind Hansol when Mingyu considers throwing that stupid shoe at him. “Face it, half of campus probably wants to sleep with you. Walking around dripping wet probably awakened new fantasies in the other half.”

Mingyu crosses his arms over his chest, scandalized. A little too late, considering he’d been wearing a white t-shirt out, so if it’s soaked, his situation is more hopeless than he’d previously thought it to be. Was that why that guy had given him a weird look? “I don’t want that!”

“Obviously, they wouldn’t either if they had to spend an hour with you, Mingyu-ah,” Minghao offers, like that’s supposed to be any consolation. “You’re just tall and hot to them. They don’t know how incredibly uncool you are.”

Because Minghao, pretentious and artsy Minghao, would know all about cool. He goes to a fashion show once, because of Hansol’s friend, no less, and declares himself the authority. He’s also in denial about being in love with someone who might love tiger print more than Minghao, even if they’re already dating.

Unfortunately, no one else in the room seems to disagree with him either. Mingyu’s scowl falls into a pout. “I need new friends.”

“I think Seungcheol hyung might still consider you his favorite,” Hansol offers, which is a true consolation prize, considering that Mingyu’s never had competition there, but he’s also going to take it because his pride is wounded. “Although, he might still be moping about Jeonghan hyung rejecting him.”

It’s been nearly two years, what the hell is that hyung still moping around for? If anything, Mingyu has more of a right to mope around about that considering how Jeonghan led him on.

His scowl returns with a vengeance and he stomps off down the hall to shower. He pretends to not hear the muffled laughter behind him when he gets his head stuck in the shirt.

He’s going to burn that stupid t-shirt.

“I think you and Jeonghan hyung are just weird about each other,” Seungkwan offers, extremely unhelpfully, from the doorway of a door Mingyu is pretty sure he closed.

He makes a face. “Yes, thank you, Boo Seungkwan, I had no idea—”

“He likes you a lot though.” Seungkwan pushes on. “I don’t think he’d stay up playing tennis with anyone else.”

It’s so nice that out of all of their friends, Seungcheol has decided Mingyu is disastrously flirting with his roommate and Seungkwan has figured out they spend way too much time using all of their school’s athletic facilities.

Then again, Seungkwan had been there twice for Jeonghan’s accidental slip ups.

Mingyu sighs. “I don’t really care what you think he is. Can you get out so I can shower now?”

Somehow, Seungkwan’s takeaway from that conversation is to invite all their friends over without telling him.

Jeonghan included.

Traitor, Mingyu mouths viciously at the man himself, crossing his arms and burying himself in the corner of the sofa. Seungkwan cackles all too ominously.

He’s supposed to feel better that Jeonghan’s quiet and subdued too, but that somehow only irritates him more. What the hell is he upset for? He’s the one who ghosted Mingyu first.

And okay, maybe Mingyu had disappeared for a week, but he also had to stand naked behind Jeonghan, half covered in beer, all because he couldn’t stop looking at him and lost a game.

He can’t even make an excuse to get out of this and go home because: a) his excuse ususally would’ve been a late night basketball game with Jeonghan and b) he’s already home.

Jeonghan doesn’t even bother approaching him, sticking by Seokmin’s side and talking to Joshua and Wonwoo like he hadn’t been upset about that a month ago.

Mingyu almost walks out of the room when he sees that. Maybe he could get away with hiding in his room—or even the kitchen, if not for the fact that Seokmin ordered pizza for all of them—for the rest of the night.

Seungcheol sits down next to him first. “Mingyu-ah~”

“I really don’t want to deal with you right now, hyung,” Mingyu mumbles, but it lacks the teasing bite and just comes across sulky.

Seungcheol falls against his side anyway. Jeonghan looks up, eyes narrowed, though it’s not at Mingyu, but Mingyu’s incorrigible hyung against his shoulder.

Is he jealous?

Mingyu wraps an arm around Seungcheol’s shoulders so he stops moving. He accidentally catches Jeonghan’s gaze when he looks up, and watches him bite his lip before he turns away slowly.

“You’re both so far gone,” Seungcheol mutters unhelpfully. “Jesus. Where’s his shoe?”

“Is that what he sent you here for?”

“No.” Seungcheol sits up a little straighter, but makes no move to detach himself. “I just think you’re both being really stupid about this.”

Mingyu snorts. “You think?”

He sighs. “If you know, then why not say something?”

Jeonghan’s still watching, his lower lip tucked under his teeth as he chews on the corner. Mingyu wants to gently thumb it out and smooth lip balm over it. Wants to run his tongue over the uneven skin and slip it between his lips too.

“Because it didn’t feel nice to get ignored like that.”

It wasn’t even about the texts. Jeonghan could have handled that better and said he needed time, but he could have also at least looked at Mingyu when they got back to the karaoke room. Instead, he pretended like Mingyu didn’t exist and then ghosted him for a week.

He also could have not kissed Mingyu if he was going to be like this about it, but Mingyu kissed back and he really, really, really liked it, so he’s trying to not hold that one against him.

“You’re both opposites in every way.” Seungcheol frowns. “I told him not to do that though.”

“Yeah, well.”

“Mingyu-ah,” Seungcheol starts again, and his voice is soft, but firm this time. He rarely uses it when he can get away with aegyo instead, so Mingyu knows whatever he says next is going to devastate him. “You live in the same complex. You could have shown up any time. I think he was waiting too.”

“Jeonghan hyung could have walked over too, by your logic.”

“He kissed you first, didn’t he?” Mingyu stiffens, then sighs.

“Yeah.”

He already knows what he’s going to say because Seungcheol’s the same way. And that’s not—that’s not fair to him. Mingyu’s been nothing but honest the entire time—he’s been at Jeonghan’s beck and call. The least Jeonghan could do is not kiss him and leave him in the dark about what it means while expecting him to go up to him first.

He’s about to tell Seungcheol that when his phone chimes and he catches Jeonghan looking down at his own.

Which could be a coincidence.

What’s less of a coincidence is the new reminder email in his inbox letting him know that it is now absolutely too late to cancel the Zumba class he doesn’t remember signing up for and that the instructors are looking forward to meeting him.

Mingyu’s taken a handful of dance classes in his free time. Why—and when—the hell did he sign up for this one?

At five in the evening no doubt, right after a rather disastrous round of golf. Was he that drunk at karaoke that he doesn’t remember this?

Not to mention—when did Zumba get so expensive? How were the ajhummas affording this—is a lawyer’s salary enough to pay for this in the future?

He risks a glance at Jeonghan only to find him still looking at his phone.

Well. If this still exists in the future.

Mingyu wants it to. So badly.

“Hyung,” he speaks quietly. “I need to go.”

Seungcheol looks over his shoulder, then glances over at Jeonghan. “Oh. Now?”

“Now.”

Mingyu slips out first and doesn’t look back to see if Jeonghan follows. It’s more dramatic this way, but he also doesn’t think he could handle it if Jeonghan simply wrote it off.

Bits and pieces start coming back to him—namely of them both drinking some more after their first badminton victory, enough to sign up for the Zumba class, and then some more to forget about it.

Jeonghan doesn’t make it in time for the class to start. Mingyu consoles himself that he’s at least not losing money on this.

It helps that the class is so fast that he can’t spare a thought for anything else as he tries to keep up. His time in that college dance club means nothing in the face of these vicious ajhummas, all easily following their instructor while Mingyu drips sweat onto the floor and wishes he could melt into the growing puddle beneath him.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t notice the door to the class opening in the last five minutes. Maybe that’s why it’s only when the instructor calls out loudly that he looks up—thinking that she’s calling him out for not keeping up, only to catch a familiar figure frozen at the front of the room.

“Yah, you’re late!”

“Sorry.” He bows a deep ninety degrees and scrambles away to the back.

“There’s no point even coming this late, is there?” The instructor is at least quick to move on. Mingyu, less so.

But that’s already been established.

“Mingyu—”

Jeonghan winces when he sees how much he’s sweating. “You… Are you okay?”

“Do I look okay?”

“Young men!”

Jeonghan swivels around, eyes wide in panic. He keeps looking back at Mingyu, but he’s just as bad, if not worse considering he’s missed the build up to their final workout.

Mingyu thinks of a time all those months back, a full year now almost, when Jeonghan had fallen back against the grass after scoring a goal on him. He’d said something about his stamina the next time they saw each other.

Maybe some things don’t change.

The instructor starts jumping in place again and Jeonghan groans, bouncing on his heels and faking it. Mingyu hides a snort when she turns her sharp gaze on him—he starts jumping like a little bunny—and it’s Mingyu’s turn to hop like a kangaroo when that glare turns on him next.

Jeonghan hides a laugh.

Maybe some things will change.

Mingyu’s not sure it bothers him as much anymore, not when they walk out of that class near tears from trying to hold their laughter in. Especially not when Jeonghan falls against him when he throws an arm around his shoulder just to stand, his legs weak either from the way Jeonghan’s bright eyes look so hopefully at him or because that Zumba class really was that intense.

The coldest Saturday morning of the year brings them back to the soccer field. Jeonghan bounces the ball on his knee, dropping it down and kicking it between his feet in an aimless dribble as he tries to stay warm. It’s too cold for early summer, but it’s six in the morning and the field was already reserved by next year’s soccer clubs.

For some reason, neither Jeonghan nor Mingyu—nor Seungcheol for that matter, although he had an excuse on account of his injury—had signed up to play again. Seungkwan had, and was already fighting with Chan about it.

(They would figure it out. Jeonghan didn’t need to hold his breath about it. Plus, it was more fun teasing Seungkwan now that he’d figured it out too.)

Mingyu stands at the gate, waiting. “Pretty sure I reserved this time slot.”

Jeonghan kicks the ball up and catches it. He quirks a brow. “You can have it if you can score on me.”

Mingyu bites back a smile—Jeonghan knows he’s biting back a smile at the familiar line. “You think I can’t score on you?”

“Did you not?” He crosses his arms, dropping the ball back down and kicking it over.

Mingyu stops it with his instep, gaze narrowed on Jeonghan. “Are you scared?”

Jeonghan should scowl back. All he can do is hold his arms to his chest and bite back a smile of his own. “What, just because you’re tall, you’re good at soccer?”

“You already know I am.” Mingyu veers off-script. “In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m winning. Do you really think you could score on me?”

Jeonghan takes a step forward. Mingyu takes two. “Haven’t I already?”

“Oh, that was so long ago.” Mingyu tilts his head. Like a puppy. He’s more like a wolf now, eyes narrowed on his target and his feet just as steady as his hands. “Think you still have it?”

Jeonghan drops his hands and shrugs. “If you’re so confident, it’ll only be better when I win, no?”

Mingyu drops the ball where he is and jogs to the goal. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you.”

Jeonghan snorts and spins around the ball, dashing forward as he dribbles it. They’ve done this before—tell each other lies and bluff until they’re both aiming so low.

Mingyu moves forward though, and that should make the shot easier, so Jeonghan lets him and keeps his eyes on the goal. It’s a big target—bigger than the dog running for him.

Jeonghan kicks a fraction of a second early, but it doesn’t matter.

Or, it shouldn’t:

The world tilts askew and he’s swept out—arms around his waist and his feet off the ground, lips planted firmly against his and his hair blowing in the cold winter wind. He clings tightly to the broad figure in front of him and can’t help the way he giggles, hands clutching Mingyu’s shoulders tightly.

“Should’ve both known better,” Jeonghan murmurs against Mingyu’s lips, content with his feet still dangling in the air like this, their foreheads gently resting against each other’s.

“Hmm?”

“When we’re together, no one’s better.”

(It matters very much.

Jeonghan’s kick goes wide, and the soccer ball spins off onto the other side of the field, stopping only when it hits the fence on the other end. Mingyu can’t stop laughing when he realizes Jeonghan missed—and then he turns pink when he realizes why he missed.)