Chapter Text
50% of your grade…
50% of your grade…
50% of your grade…
The words kept bouncing and echoing in his mind hours after class had ended.
He had packed his bag on autopilot after that, shuffling toward the door with the crowd of students chatting and laughing around him, all blissfully unaware of his quickly spiralling mental state.
Was no one else freaking out about this?
50% of your grade…
The same sentence ricocheted around his skull the entire walk back to his dorm until it settled like a stone into a dull headache behind his eyes.
What a shame it was so nice outside… On any other occasion he would have thought it’d be the perfect day to go out and sketch.
Not today.
He didn’t think this bright weather was very reflective of his current mood.
50% of your grade…
Now lying on his single bed, curtains closed to keep the room dark and suitably moody, Wonbin stared up at the atrocious off-white popcorn ceiling, slowly letting the inevitable sink in as it chipped away at his remaining will to live.
Minutes or hours could have gone by then, he wasn’t entirely sure.
After he’d cycled through the catalog of every human emotion, he’d finally reached a state of complete zen.
Hands delicately folded over his chest, Wonbin truly couldn’t feel anything anymore except a sick sense of calm.
He had come to the inevitable conclusion.
He was fucked.
Truly and undeniably fucked.
Because in order to pass his final year in the fashion program and get his degree, Wonbin needed to do one “simple” thing.
Create a collection.
Easy
With a muse.
Less easy
A real muse. Made of flesh and bone, and capable of talking.
Nearly impossible
And NOT a mannequin.
He had asked
Apparently, according to Professor Lee, a muse was “essential” to the creative process. It was something all designers should have to be able to advance their art and elevate their work.
According to Wonbin, it was essential to ruining his life.
Which led him and his thoughts to the second, much more (de)pressing issue.
Muses required interaction.
Human interaction.
Real, living people with thoughts, opinions, schedules, and the deeply unfortunate habit of talking back.
Wonbin did not do people.
For as long as he could remember, he had never been good at making friends.
He had truly tried, for a long time, to fit into every box people wanted him to fit in. He’d joined sports teams in school, went to parties and drank cheap beer because everyone else was doing it.
He’d even kissed a girl to try and fit in.
It was never enough.
His mother used to say he was just shy and needed to come out of his shell a little more.
But it always ended the same way.
“Friends” would call him aloof. Disinterested. Cold.
You just don’t seem to make any effort.
If only they knew how much he actually did. He’d tried so hard.
Since then, his circle has remained small.
Microscopic, really.
New people were unpredictable. New people had too many opinions and thoughts.
New people in his classes that called themselves fellow designers touched his stuff without asking and suggested criminal things like, Have you tried adding some glitter to it?
Instant jail.
But he was digressing.
The main point was that new people always ended up disappointed once they realized he wasn’t all what they had imagined.
He’s so pretty but there’s nothing much beyond that.
What a shame.
He’s a little… neurotic don’t you think?
It’s a real downer to be around.
It was always the same thing.
So now instead of hoping for a different outcome, he’d just come to expect it and avoided it entirely. Saving himself and whoever tried approaching him time and effort.
No.
If Professor Lee expected him to simply go outside and acquire a whole human being willing to become his “artistic inspiration”, then clearly the man had lost his mind and it was time to retire.
Wonbin exhaled slowly through his nose.
Perhaps if he simply lay here long enough to become one with -
His bedroom, previously draped in almost complete darkness, suddenly burst with light, interrupting his self-pity party.
Was that it?
Had mercy finally arrived to take him out of his misery?
He was ready for the sweet embrace of death to-
“ Wonbin-ah.”
Death sounded a lot more cheerful and Japanese than he had expected.
Wonbin cracked one eye open.
Shotaro stood in the doorway, one hand still on the light switch, the other holding a cardboard tray with two iced coffees and a bag of what he could only assume to be pastries balanced precariously on top.
He was dressed offensively bright for someone interrupting his private crisis.
For one brief delusional second, Wonbin considered pretending to be dead.
“Ah,” Shotaro said, taking in the scene while kicking off his sneakers. “You’re doing the vampire thing again.”
Wonbin shut his eye again.
“I’m not, go away.”
“No.”
The mattress dipped sharply as Shotaro dropped onto the edge of the bed without invitation, making him bounce.
Rude.
Wonbin did not move a muscle beyond that, listening to what he assumed was Shotaro unpacking the load of pastries he had brought.
“If you stain my Egyptian cotton duvet, I’ll make sure Sungchan leaves you.”
“I don’t think that’s how relationships work.”
“Don’t test me.”
Shotaro hummed, entirely unbothered as he placed the content of his bag on top of his stomach.
“Dark room, count Dracula pose and you haven’t even removed your shoes? This is at least an eight out of ten crisis”
He opened his eyes this time, glaring at him.
“It's an eleven.”
“ Alright, alright! I got your favourite by the way, they only had one left so I snatched it before that girl in STEM could take it. She wasn’t happy-”
“Why are you here?”
Shotaro placed one of the iced coffees directly onto Wonbin’s folded hands.
Vanilla by the smell of it.
Good.
He could at least enjoy his favourite drink before having his life completely ruined and never graduating.
“Because Sungchan texted me and said you stormed out of your building as if, and I quote, you’d just been informed of your upcoming arranged marriage.”
Wonbin sat up, taking a sip of his drink and watching as the ungodly amount of pastries tumbled onto his duvet.
He didn’t even have the energy to really care.
“That is wildly specific.”
“ He’s really been into period dramas recently.”
Shotaro scooted over, moving some of the croissants, before leaning against the headboard next to him.
His socks were mismatched, that deeply annoyed him.
“ But it also told me I should come by to check on you.”
Wonbin took another sip of his drink, unsure how to deal with the too honest answer from his friend.
So he stayed silent, reaching instead to go through the baked goods Shotaro had brought with him until he found his favourite and took a bite.
Who cares about diet and proteins right now anyway? Proteins could go to hell for all he cared. Spinach wasn't gonna fix his problem.
Well, butter and bread either, but at least it tasted better.
“You know,” Shotaro said, “if someone found you like this, they’d probably assume you died.”
“I am dying.”
“You’re overreacting a little I think.”
Wonbin took another aggressive bite out of his pastry.
Shotaro watched him while sipping his drink, letting the silence do the work for him.
That bastard.
It was working and he knew it.
“Are you gonna tell me what happened?”
“There is nothing much to tell.”
“Try again, Bbin-ah.”
Wonbin sighed,
“My final project is worth fifty percent of my grade.”
“Yes, mine too.”
“You seem suspiciously calm about that.”
Shotaro scoffed.
“Please, I’m talented and emotionally resilient.”
“You cried last week because the bubble tea shop down the street ran out of taro.”
“That was grief by the way, not weakness.”
Wonbin snored, placing the now empty pastry bag on his nightstand and dusting his hand on his jeans. He reached for one of the other pastry bags, grabbing a croissant and sniffing it.
“Anyway, the project theme is Metamorphosis.”
“Sounds fun.”
He took a tentative bite.
“We have to create a three-look collection.”
“Still sounds fun to me.”
Making a face at the overly sweet chocolate filling, he handed it to Shotaro without a word.
The elder took it without a fuss, biting right into it.
“And Professor Lee says we need a muse.”
Shotaro blinked.
“A muse?”
“Yes Hyung, a living, breathing muse. A human being.”
There was a beat of silence where both of them just looked at each other.
And then.
“Oh….”
“Why are you smiling??”
“This is incredible.”
“This is career-ending, hyung!”
Shotaro set his coffee aside, grabbing the hand that wasn’t holding his drink and patting it gently.
“No wonder you’re horizontal.”
“I don’t do humans.”
“Yes, I’m aware.”
“I am not approaching a stranger and asking them to become my artistic inspiration.”
“Why not?”
“Because I would rather get hit by a bus.”
“That’s a little dramatic.”
“I’m being honest. It would hurt less.”
Shotaro tilted his head, deep in thought.
He didn’t like that one second.
His hyung had been the one adopting him in his first semester, and despite his abrasive introverted personality, had stuck around long enough to become his best friend.
They couldn’t be more different, but at the same time they just worked. They complemented each other, and Shotaro was one of the most talented students of their department if Wonbin could say so himself.
It had been devastating when he’d learned they wouldn’t be in the same class this year.
“What about someone you know?”
Wonbin gave him an unimpressed look.
“I know like three people.”
“You know more than three people, Bbin-ah.”
“Sorry, I tolerate three people.”
Shotaro ignored him, fishing his phone out of his baggy jeans and started to frantically text someone.
Sungchan most probably.
Couples were so gross.
He could hear the incessant tap tap tap coming from his keyboard since the man insisted on always having his sound on.
One of his only flaws unfortunately.
“Okay then, how about someone adjacent to someone you tolerate?”
“No.”
“You haven’t even heard my idea yet!”
“I can already tell it’s terrible.”
Shotaro kept on typing, not even looking up.
“It would be more efficient for you.”
“It’s suspicious, that’s what it is.”
“It’s perfect actually.”
Wonbin narrowed his eyes.
“I don’t like your tone.”
The other glanced up, interrupting his texting session and smiling at him.
“Sungchan has a friend.”
“No.”
“He’s tall.”
“No.”
“He’s handsome.”
“No.”
Absolutely not, even worse.
“He’s built like he was designed to wear expensive clothing.”
Wonbin hesitated.
Fuck.
Shotaro’s smile widened as his frown deepened.
“I hate this.”
“He’s also deeply antisocial,” Shotaro continued, going back to typing. “So you two have that in common. It’s great! Can’t believe we didn’t think of that before!”
“This gets worse every second.”
“And,” Shotaro added, “he desperately needs to leave his dorm more.”
Wonbin set his coffee down with great care.
“Shotaro.”
“Yes?”
“If you drag some random loser into my life during my greatest moment of weak—”
“Oh, relax!” Shotaro waved his hand dismissively, “ I’m sure you’ll get along just fine!”
Shotaro looked down when his phone let out a ping from an incoming message.
He beamed.
“Sungchan says he’s free tomorrow.”