Chapter Text
The hallway was still plunged into that beige light that always accompanies late afternoon in old buildings, an almost nostalgic glow that spread across the walls and metal lockers as if trying to soften the day's exhaustion.
Jeongin walked slowly, feeling the faint warmth of this luminosity touch his skin. For the first time since setting foot on campus that morning, he felt his mood reorganize inside his chest. Like pieces of a puzzle that, against all logic, were starting to fit together.
After swallowing an exhausting world tour over the last few months, crowds screaming his name in stadiums and the chaos of being the biggest pop star of the moment, he only wanted one thing: to be normal, or the closest thing to it that he could manage to be.
The tour around the university had been surprisingly good. He had received giant maps he would never use, repeated flyers, notice lists he confessed to having already lost and even a free chocolate from the literature club, something so random he decided to interpret it as a gift from the universe, a symbolic pat on the back saying: “everything's gonna be alright, Jeongin”.
He had talked to nice people, discovered a small, cozy coffee shop next to the library, with soft armchairs and the smell of cinnamon, and, above all, had made the firm decision that he wouldn't let that sudden appearance of Chan on campus ruin his first day.
Bangchan. That idiot. The leather-jacket rockstar with an angel smile and a catastrophe attitude. That chapter of his life Jeongin swore he had buried, and about which he wrote an entire breakup album that was breaking streaming records.
He took a deep breath in front of the dorm room door like someone trying to negotiate with destiny. He had restarted. He had stepped out of the spotlight with a courage he didn't even know he possessed. At least one thing, just one, could go right. Five minutes of peace wasn't asking for too much. Just five.
But, when he pushed the door, the room greeted him with a small surprise that made his heart trip over its own rhythm.
It wasn't the same.
Jeongin blinked once. Twice. Three times. Because right there, right in the middle of the narrow, poorly ventilated space that would now be his home for months, were two new suitcases. Huge, black suitcases, marked by metal band stickers, city names crossed out halfway, international airport tags and some phrases in silver marker. It was that type of luggage that seemed to exhale the smell of tobacco and backstage attitude.
— Oh… — escaped Jeongin's mouth before he could stop it.
An involuntary smile was born, light and hopeful.
— Already here…?
His heart accelerated in a sweet, anxious, almost childish way. He was finally going to meet his new roommate! It could be someone cool, someone kind, a quiet nerd who liked cats or someone loud and fun, anything worked, as long as it wasn't the ghost with long hair and an enigmatic look from his life.
He wanted someone common. Who wasn't arrogant, who didn't smoke that annoying cigarette Jeongin hated and who hadn't destroyed his sense of emotional stability in the past. Someone normal.
The muffled sound of the shower escaped from under the bathroom door, bringing with it a cloud of hot steam that drifted along the floor. Jeongin put his backpack on the bed, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle, trying to distract himself from his own anxiety. He sat down, adjusted his shirt, straightened his back and took a deep breath.
Mentalize basic instructions, Jeongin: be nice, smile, don't make stupid jokes right off the bat, don't look like a spoiled pop star… just be normal.
The shower water stopped.
Jeongin straightened up immediately. His fingers tightened against his knees, the smile set on his face with an almost theatrical determination. He wanted this new page.
The bathroom lock clicked.
Jeongin stood up in a leap, smiling, ready to start the semester on the right foot… but the smile died as fast and as brutally as a candle blown out by an icy gust.
Because the person who stepped out of the bathroom, with dark, damp hair falling over his forehead, a towel hanging over his broad shoulder, hot skin shining from the steam and that same dark, impossible to forget gaze, was Chan.
Bangchan, the most beautiful nightmare of his life. The ex-boyfriend the universe seemed determined to recycle until it turned into emotional dust.
Jeongin froze. His body stayed still, his mind shut down, his soul left the building for an indefinite time. Five full seconds of temporary death.
Chan took a step out, still drying his neck with the towel, and only then noticed Jeongin standing there. He froze too. But only for half a second, because Chan had always been absurdly good at faking self-control. His gaze faltered, weighed down by that whirlwind of restrained affection and guilt he always kept for Jeongin.
Then, came the smile. That crooked, half-guilty, half “I know you want to kill me” smile.
Jeongin was the first to speak, because of course it would be him. His voice came out thin, incredulous, on the verge of a breakdown:
— Why are you coming out of the bathroom? — He blinked fast. — And… where's my roommate?
Chan scratched the back of his neck, averting his gaze for a second before facing him again.
— So… — he started, dragging out the word like someone stepping on a minefield. — About that…
Jeongin shook his head in absolute denial before even hearing the end. No, impossible. He hadn't done anything to deserve this, okay, maybe he had written ten songs calling his ex irresponsible on the new album, but that was art, not a reason for divine punishment!
Chan took a deep breath and raised his hands in a peace gesture:
— I am your roommate, Jeongin.
The sentence hit Jeongin like a truck coming at high speed. The universe didn't just laugh, it cackled in his face.
Jeongin fell back onto the bed as if his legs had turned into jelly. His hand flew to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly. He preferred being dead. Definitely. Being underground seemed like an infinitely cozier option than sharing twelve square meters with the man who broke his heart.
A dramatic, muffled groan escaped his throat:
— No… no, no, no. It's not possible. It can't be you. I just wanted a normal roommate… someone who didn't make rock music and who wasn't… you.
Chan took a hesitant step into the room. In the depths of his dark gaze, that old, painful passion lay hidden. He knew he deserved Jeongin's hatred, but being there, so close again, made his chest race. He even knew by heart every track of the album Jeongin had released about them.
— Surprise…? — Chan tried, his voice soft, full of care.
Jeongin closed his eyes tightly.
— My God… — he murmured, exhausted. — The semester hasn't even started and I already want to play dead until graduation.
For a few moments that seemed to stretch into eternity, the room remained trapped in a dense silence. Jeongin stayed there, sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand flat over his face.
And then, without any warning, as if a freak-out switch had been flipped, Jeongin jumped to his feet.
The mattress creaked.
Jeongin started walking. He moved through the room like a platinum-haired storm, crossing the space with fast, restless steps, going from one corner to the other like a broken metronome.
— No… this can't be happening! — he spoke to himself, gesturing toward the ceiling. — First I bump into you on campus… okay, accident. But now… this?! Dorm. Roommate. Shared bathroom?! What's the statistical probability of this, Chan? Zero! This is divine harassment!
Chan remained still, the towel still on his shoulder, watching his ex-boyfriend freak out. There was a comical contrast between Jeongin's electric chaos and Chan's calm rockstar composure, looking like a cornered spectator at a pop concert.
— I just wanted peace! — Jeongin exclaimed, raising his arms dramatically. — Peace, tranquility, eating sweets without anyone judging me, making new friends! But no! The universe decided to put my ex-boyfriend in my space. On my… on my visually accessible mattress! This is torture!
He spun on his own axis and pointed accusingly at Chan's face:
— And don't look at me with that stray dog face! I know you still smoke in the room when you think no one's looking!
Chan blinked, caught off guard, and cautiously raised one of his hands:
— Jeongin…?
— Don't "Jeongin" me! — Jeongin continued, opening the closet door, closing it, opening it again and slamming it hard. — I'm calling the dean's office. I'm calling my manager. I'm calling the Pope!
Chan gave a subtle half-smile, his voice coming out low and raspy:
— I didn't know the Pope handled university dorm room changes…
Jeongin froze mid-step. He didn't turn around completely, he just pointed a sharp index finger in Chan's direction, his brown eyes sparking beneath his messy bangs.
— Shut it, Chan. Shut up.
— Right — Chan raised his hands in absolute surrender, keeping his tone calm, although his eyes betrayed just how painfully adorable he found that scene. — No mouth. Mouth shut.
Jeongin let out a dramatic sigh, throwing himself backward onto his bed and covering his eyes with his arm.
— I hate you — Jeongin murmured against the fabric of his jacket.
Chan looked at him, his smile slowly fading to make way for an infinitely sweeter, sadder and more genuine expression. He walked with silent steps to his own suitcase, grabbed a clean t-shirt and said very softly:
— I know, Jeongin. But I'm still glad to be here.