Chapter Text
For a university student, it feels a little embarrassing for Wemmbu to admit that he still longs for something as simple—and as complicated—as love.
Not just any kind of love, either.The type of love that makes you giddy and smiley, the one with just one text makes the day seem brighter and so much more worth it. He desperately wants to experience that kind of love.
He wants the kind of love that feels safe.
The subtle glances across a room. The small, quiet interactions no one else notices. Holding hands like it’s the most natural thing in the world. After-school dates that stretch into the evening. Waiting outside someone’s classroom just to walk with them for a few minutes. Lowkey relationships that feel like a shared secret. Goodbye hugs that linger a second too long.
Maybe even a kiss, if he’s lucky.
Why does that seem so easy for everyone else?
Why does it feel so impossible for him?
Unfortunately for Wemmbu, he likes men.
And as a gay man—with standards that are, apparently, “unrealistic” according to literally everyone who’s heard them—his dating pool is sadly tragic.
The worst part? It’s not even that hard to meet his standards!
He just wants someone supportive. Someone fashionable. Someone athletic, or at least active. Someone smart, hygienic, and—okay, fine—handsome.
...Alright. Maybe it is a little difficult.
But still.
Is it really that unreasonable?
High school didn’t make things any easier. If anything, it made everything worse.
There was the constant overthinking—trying to figure out if the guy he liked was actually gay or just another straight guy who was way too comfortable with physical affection. The kind that blurs lines and leaves him overanalyzing every touch, every joke, every look.Damn the bro-code.
And then there was everything else.
The comments. The jokes. The looks.
Sometimes from students. Sometimes from teachers. Sometimes from people who should’ve known better. Sometimes from whole families. The apple, as they say, doesn’t fall far from the tree. And apparently, prejudice didn’t discriminate when it came to where it came from.
Wemmbu learned early on that it was easier to pretend it didn’t matter. And most of the time, it really didn’t.
...Or at least, that’s what he tells himself.
Because the truth is, it does matter. It always has. He’s just gotten used to not wasting energy on things he can’t change. Still, the question lingers.
Is love really that hard to ask for?
He doesn’t want anything extravagant. He just wants someone to run to.
Someone to share his small victories with. Someone who listens when he’s overwhelmed and doesn’t know where to start. Someone who stays when everything feels heavy and uncertain. Someone who chooses him.
Sure, he has Eggchan.
But Egg has his own life, his own priorities, his own relationship. And as much as Wemmbu loves him, he knows that kind of presence isn’t permanent in the way he secretly wishes it could be.
So where does that leave him?
Is he really not worth the risk? Not worth choosing? Not worth loving like that?
God, he sounds like such a hopeless romantic.
Ever since he started attending Unstable University, that longing has only grown stronger.
Between juggling his major—which, to be fair, he actually enjoys—and surviving intense volleyball training, you’d think he’d be too busy to think about love.
He’s not.
Because, unfortunately, his current situation makes everything worse.
His roommates. All of them.
They’re his type.
Not just close to his type. Not “kind of” his type.
They are his type.
It should feel like a dream come true.
At first, it did.
But now?
Now it feels like he’s setting himself up for inevitable heartbreak.
For one, living with them is a constant distraction. Wemmbu has never been overly ambitious, but he’s always been focused. Driven, in his own way.
Lately, though?
His motivation is all over the place. His grades are slipping. His thoughts are constantly elsewhere—and that “elsewhere” is usually one of them.
Secondly, he values what he already has with them.
Their friendship means everything to him. And the idea of ruining that—of making things awkward, uncomfortable, or worse—terrifies him more than rejection ever could. He tells himself that it’s enough to love them quietly. To stand by and watch them live their lives. To watch them fall in love with people who are nothing like him—and everything he feels he can never be.
Thirdly, he falls too easily. The smallest gestures undo him. A hand on his shoulder. A casual compliment. Someone remembering something small about him.
They mean nothing.
They’re just acts of kindness. Things friends do for each other without thinking.But to Wemmbu?
They linger.
They replay in his head at night. They twist into something bigger, something dangerous.
Something that feels like more.
Even when it isn’t.
And deep down, he knows it isn’t.
Hey! Don't judge a delusional, gay man
There's so many more reasons, but you get the gist of it. Wemmbu is simply out of hope at this point.
Anyways.
His current predicament is the main cause of his constant migraines—second only to his university workload.
And the worst part?
He has no real outlet for any of it.
He can’t just keep bottling everything up.
Because one day, he knows it’s going to explode.
So what does wemmbu do?
Write letters of course!
Well, he writes them in emails but what’s the difference? It’s still mail!
He just hopes that he doesn’t accidentally send it, or he swears he will release an ungodly amount of nukes upon this realm.