Chapter Text
Xu Minghao knew something was wrong when Professor Han offered him tea.
Not because Professor Han was incapable of generosity.
Rather, because Professor Han’s generosity generally came in the form of academic opportunities that required forty hours of unpaid labor and ended with the phrase “this will look excellent on your résumé.”
Tea was different.
Tea was apologetic.
Minghao remained standing in front of the enormous oak desk and looked suspiciously at the porcelain cup that had been placed before the empty chair.
“No.”
Professor Han blinked. “I haven’t asked you anything yet.”
“Exactly, but I can already tell it’s something I won’t like.”
“Minghao.”
“You only make tea when you’re about to ruin someone’s life.”
The corner of Professor Han’s mouth twitched.
Minghao pointed at him. “See.”
“What?”
“You almost smiled. You know what you’re doing.”
“I assure you, I did not.”
Minghao gave him a fake smile as he stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “You did. I’m leaving.”
“Sit down.”
Minghao sighed loudly before slumping back into the leather chair.
There were approximately four hundred and seventy things he could have been doing instead.
Technically, there were only seven. But four hundred and seventy felt more representative of the inconvenience.
His Thursday schedule had been constructed perfectly before he was called in.
He had twentieth-century visual culture until eleven, lunch between eleven-fifteen and eleven-forty-five, library from noon until two, studio afterward, grocery shopping at four-thirty because the market became intolerable after five, dinner at six, shower at seven-thirty, reading until ten.
Professor Han had emailed him at 10:47 that morning.
“Come see me after class. I have an opportunity for you.”
An email that was guaranteed to destroy a perfectly planned out afternoon.
Professor Han folded his hands.
“You remember the Residential Peer Reintegration Program.”
Minghao’s suspicion immediately deepened.
“Unfortunately.”
“You applied.”
“I applied six months ago.”
“And you were accepted.”
Minghao stared at him and Professor Han stared back.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like someone’s dead.”
“Nobody is dead.”
“It’s going to be me, isn’t it? .”
Professor Han exhaled through his nose.
“No, you get to live and continue being a university student along with participating in the program with the student they selected for you.”
That should have been good news.
The Residential Peer Reintegration Program had been the irritating little golden ticket Minghao had spent half of spring chasing. Twelve hours of mentorship work each week, a semester of residential supervision, weekly evaluations and an obnoxiously long reflective portfolio at the end.
In exchange for dealing with people who were a pain in the ass?
Academic credit.
A generous stipend.
And most importantly, housing.
Private university housing.
Not private private, unfortunately. He would still share the apartment with his assigned student, but there would be only two occupants instead of six, and each resident received his own bedroom and bathroom.
For a twenty-year-old university student currently living beside a man who played electric guitar at one in the morning, it had sounded like heaven.
Minghao narrowed his eyes.
“And who did this “lovely” program pick out?”
Professor Han opened a folder and Minghao’s stomach dropped when he saw how thick it was.
“You’re joking.”
“Minghao.”
“You have to be fucking joking!”
“Language! And you haven’t even read through anything yet! You don’t even know his name.”
“I don’t need his name! Why are there so many pages? Did this guy exist since the beginning of time?”
Professor Han ignored that.
“Wen Junhui. Twenty-one. Incoming student.”
“A transfer?”
“Yes, he’d be at a first-year standing despite his old age.”
Minghao frowned.
Twenty-one wasn’t particularly old, but it was unusual.
“Previous institution?”
“None.”
“Gap years?”
“Something like that.”
Minghao placed his untouched tea back onto the saucer.
Professor Han continued before he could ask.
“His academic background is unconventional. There were disciplinary difficulties during secondary school, followed by several years without formal education. His entrance examination scores, however, were exceptional.”
“How exceptional?”
Professor Han hesitated.
Minghao leaned forward. “How exceptional?”
“Ninety-ninth percentile.”
Minghao sat back in disbelief.
Oh. That was irritating.
“Then why does he need me?”
“Academic ability isn’t the concern.”
“Attendance?”
“Among other things.”
“Substance abuse?”
Professor Han’s silence answered that.
“Violence?”
Another silence.
Minghao was really starting to get worried now.
“Professor.”
“I mean, he has no felony convictions.”
“THAT IS NOT THE SAME AS SAYING NO.”
“Minghao, please—”
“You want me to live with a violent alcoholic?”
“He is not an alcoholic.”
“Drug addict?”
“No.”
“Serial killer?”
“Would you stop?”
“You’re avoiding the important questions, professor!”
Professor Han closed the folder with a sigh.
“He has a juvenile disciplinary history involving truancy, fighting, vandalism, petty theft and possession of alcohol while underage. There are other incidents, but nothing that legally prevents him from attending university. More importantly, his recent record has been considerably cleaner.”
“How recent?”
Professor Han became fascinated by his desk.
Minghao’s eyes widened.
“Professor Han.”
“The last eighteen months.”
“Eighteen—”
“And there have been no incidents since his acceptance.”
“WHEN WAS HE ACCEPTED?”
“Three weeks ago.”
Minghao stood right back up with his bag. “I hope you have a wonderful semester.”
“Minghao.”
“I’ll send you a postcard from literally anywhere else.”
“The stipend is eighteen thousand.”
Minghao stopped at the doorway.
Silence.
He slowly turned around.
“You are a deeply manipulative person.”
Professor Han laughed slightly. “I am aware.”
Minghao sat again as he proceeded the amount.
Eighteen thousand dollars was not a stipend.
Eighteen thousand dollars was hush money.
But Eighteen thousand dollars is also still eighteen thousand dollars!
“Fine,” Minghao muttered. “Let me see him.”
Professor Han’s expression changed.
Not dramatically. Just enough that Minghao caught it immediately.
“What now?”
“There’s one additional consideration.”
“Oh my god, he really is a serial killer!”
“No! He’s not that!”
“Then what?”
Professor Han cleared his throat.
“He’s an alpha.”
Silence.
Minghao blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then he laughed, hard and loud as tears built up in his eyes.
“Professor Han! I didn’t know you had so many jokes today!”
But Professor Han was not laughing along. He actually looked very serious.
Minghao’s laughter disappeared.
“No way.”
“The residential facilities—”
“No.”
“—are specifically equipped—”
“Absolutely not, I’m not doing this.”
“Would you allow me to finish?”
“I’m an omega.”
“I am aware.”
“He’s an alpha.”
“I am also aware.”
“And your proposal is that I live alone with him?”
Minghao slammed his fists down on the desk.
“ARE YOU CRAZY?!”
Professor Han flinched and quickly began to explain the situation.
“The Reintegration apartments have independent locking suites, separate ventilation systems, medical-grade scent filtration and emergency suppressant stations. Secondary-gender pairings are permitted under university residential policy provided both participants complete compatibility screening and consent to the placement.”
“Compatibility screening?”
“Medical histories, scent sensitivity, cycle documentation—”
“You want my HEAT SCHEDULE?”
Professor Han pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Please lower your voice.”
“I would actually like to make it louder.”
“The program does not give your cycle information to your peer.”
“Oh, wonderful. So only the university knows when I’m fertile while I’m living with a demon.”
“Wen Junhui is not a demon.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Actually, I have met him.”
Minghao paused.
“And?”
Professor Han looked toward the window nervously. That was not very encouraging.
“He’s…Difficult.”
Minghao stared at him.
“Difficult.”
“Yes.”
“You want to put me in an apartment with an alpha whose professional academic description is difficult?”
“I didn’t say professional.”
“Somehow that’s worse.”
Professor Han sighed.
“Minghao, I wouldn’t recommend you if I believed you were in danger. The placement can be terminated immediately by either participant. There are resident coordinators in the building twenty-four hours a day, and the apartment has emergency separation protocols. You are not responsible for controlling him. You are not his counselor, his probation officer or his parent.”
“Then what exactly am I supposed to do?”
“Teach him how to be a student and a civilized person.”
That quieted him.
Professor Han pushed the folder across the desk.
“Routine. Accountability. Organization. Campus expectations. Academic resources. Someone who notices if he hasn’t attended class in three days.”
Minghao looked down.
WEN JUNHUI.
The photograph attached to the first page was black and white.
And Minghao’s immediate thought was unfortunately—
Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
The man was beautiful.
Not pretty.
Minghao was pretty. Jeonghan was pretty. Half the omegas Minghao knew were pretty.
Wen Junhui looked like somebody had designed a man specifically to make other people’s lives inconvenient.
He looked like a God.
Sharp eyes. Straight nose. High cheekbones. A mouth that looked naturally unimpressed with whatever happened to be in front of it. His hair in the identification photograph was dark, though the picture appeared several years old.
Even sitting down for the photograph, there was something enormous about him.
“Six foot one,” Professor Han supplied.
Minghao looked up. “Why would you tell me that?”
“You looked concerned.”
“That made it worse.”
He looked back down.
Wen Junhui.
The academic portion was bizarre.
Average secondary-school GPA: terrible.
Attendance: worse.
Standardized entrance examination: nearly perfect.
Placement examinations: advanced.
Interview evaluation—
Minghao squinted.
“‘Demonstrates exceptional analytical ability when cooperative.’”
Professor Han coughed.
Minghao continued to read.
“‘Displays little intrinsic motivation toward academic achievement.’”
Another page.
“‘Hostile response to perceived authority.’”
Another.
“‘Highly independent.’”
Another.
“‘Behavior may initially present as confrontational.’”
Minghao closed the folder.
“These are all professional ways of calling someone an asshole.”
Professor Han said nothing.
“I want you to meet him before deciding.”
“I have decided.”
“Think about the stipend—”
“Stop saying eighteen thousand dollars like it’s a magic spell.”
“Eighteen thousand dollars.”
“Fuck you.”
“Minghao.”
“Sorry.”
Professor Han’s eyes moved toward the door.
Minghao followed them.
Then froze.
“Don’t tell me.”
Professor Han said nothing.
“No way you already had him here.”
The office door opened.
Minghao smelled him before he saw him.
Alpha.
The scent came first, rich and heavy enough that Minghao’s shoulders immediately stiffened.
Something smoky. Cedar, perhaps, underneath something warmer and darker that reminded him unpleasantly of whiskey.
And there was too much of it. Far too much.
Minghao turned and the first thing he saw was black boots.
Then long legs in baggy faded jeans and broad shoulders in a black hoodie.
Wen Junhui ducked slightly beneath the doorway as he made his way in.
The identification photograph had done him absolutely no justice.
His hair was platinum now, nearly white beneath the fluorescent lights, except for several inches of black staining the ends like somebody had dipped them in ink.
It fell messily over his forehead. Broad shoulders filled the hoodie. His arms were ridiculous. There was a thin silver chain around his neck and two rings on his right hand.
Minghao’s gaze traveled upward.
Junhui’s traveled downward.
They looked at each other.
Neither spoke.
Junhui’s eyes moved over him once.
Black boots. Wide-legged trousers. Thin waist beneath a fitted gray shirt. Silver jewelry. Black hair brushing Minghao’s nape.
Then his gaze returned to Minghao’s face.
Something changed in it.
Not attraction exactly.
Recognition.
“Oh,” Junhui said.
Minghao disliked his voice too.
Low.
Lazy.
Deep.
“You’re the omega.”
Minghao’s eye twitched.
Professor Han immediately intervened.
“Mr. Wen, this is Xu Minghao. He’s one of the highest-ranking students in the department and—”
“I have a name.”
Junhui looked at him.
Minghao crossed his arms.
“You can use it instead of omega.”
Then Junhui’s mouth moved. Barely.
Was that—
Was he smiling?
“Alright, Minghao.”
The way he said it irritated him even more.
“Congratulations,” Minghao replied. “You can read.”
Professor Han closed his eyes in frustration.
Junhui’s almost-smile widened.
Interesting.
That was clearly what his expression said.
Minghao wanted to punch him.
Unfortunately, punching a six-foot-one alpha on university property would probably weaken his argument that Junhui was the dangerous one.
Professor Han gestured toward the remaining chair.
“Sit, please.”
Junhui remained standing.
“I prefer to not..”
“It’s just so we can go over a couple more things and—.”
“I’m comfortable standing up.”
Professor Han stared at him in disbelief.
Junhui stared back, his gaze intense and intimidating.
Minghao watched the exchange for five seconds before developing a headache.
“Can you just sit down?”
Junhui looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because he’s clearly not going to continue until you do.”
“That’s his problem.”
“It’s becoming mine.”
“Sounds difficult.”
“It is. Sit.”
Junhui’s eyebrows lifted.
For a horrible second, Minghao became acutely aware that he had just ordered an unfamiliar alpha twice his width to sit down like an unruly dog.
The alpha scent in the room sharpened.
Minghao’s spine stiffened instinctively.
He hated that.
Hated the tiny involuntary reaction his biology produced before his mind could intervene. The awareness. The calculation.
Junhui noticed.
His eyes flicked briefly toward Minghao’s throat.
Then, unexpectedly, the scent receded.
Not completely.
But enough.
Junhui pulled out the chair and sat.
Minghao was amazed he listened.
Professor Han was too.
“Excellent,” he said. “As I was explaining, Mr. Xu has been selected as your peer residential mentor.”
Junhui looked at Minghao.
“I don’t think so.”
Minghao’s jaw dropped.
Professor Han sighed. “Mr. Wen—”
“I said no.”
Minghao turned toward him. “Excuse me?”
Junhui leaned back, long legs stretching beneath the desk.
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
Minghao laughed. “Don’t worry. I don’t want a six-foot toddler.”
Junhui’s gaze snapped toward him.
Professor Han said, “This is precisely why—”
“I passed your exam,” Junhui interrupted. “You took the money. I’m enrolled. I’m done.”
“Your enrollment was explicitly conditional.”
“My mother’s money wasn’t.”
“Tuition does not exempt you from university policy.”
“Then refund her.”
Professor Han’s jaw tightened.
For the first time, Minghao looked at Junhui without immediately thinking about how annoying he was.
There had been something strange in his voice when he said mother.
Flat.
Too flat.
Junhui stood. “I’ll live off campus.”
“You cannot during your probationary semester.”
“Watch me.”
“You’ll lose your enrollment.”
Junhui shrugged.
That was strange too.
Not performative indifference.
Actual indifference.
Like none of this mattered.
The exam. University. Money. Opportunity.
Nothing.
Professor Han apparently recognized it as well.
“Junhui.”
It was the first time he’d used his first name.
Junhui stopped.
“Your entrance scores tell me you’re capable of succeeding here.”
“Congratulations.”
“You deserve the opportunity.”
Something flashed across Junhui’s face.
Gone almost immediately.
Minghao saw it anyway.
Professor Han continued quietly. “Whether you believe that yet is irrelevant.”
Junhui laughed. There was no humor in it.
“Are we done?”
Professor Han looked exhausted.
“Mr. Xu will show you the apartment.”
“No.”
This time Minghao and Junhui spoke simultaneously.
They turned toward each other.
“You don’t want me there,” Junhui said.
Minghao nodded. “Correct. I don’t want you there.”
“Wonderful.”
“We agree.”
“Perfect.”
“Then tell him no.”
“I DID.”
Professor Han pushed two keycards across the desk.
Neither moved.
“They’ve already been assigned.”
Minghao stared at the cards.
Junhui stared at Professor Han.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Minghao whispered.
Professor Han smiled, an actual smile this time.
“Welcome to the Residential Peer Reintegration Program.”