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1. Xu Minghao, in every sense, is unnecessarily smitten.
He doesn’t know if it’s youth that makes him melodramatic or if it’s just the universe being cruelly, justifiably ironic. But he knows one thing, and that is, that Jeon Wonwoo is art. He is thought and wonder breathed into human clay.
No one has bewildered him like this before. Pitiful, straightforward, unsuspecting, matter-over-mind Minghao - he could have never seen this coming, this onslaught of unfair feelings that swept over him like a wave one seemingly auspicious day, a wave that displaced his footing, leaving him to fall flat on his bony ass, washed up and alone in the sand.
Sometimes (most of the time) Wonwoo is so beautiful, so out of touch, so far from his league, so different from him that he’s scared to go near to him, really.
But perhaps the one thing that always manages to knock the air out of Minghao’s lungs is this: when Wonwoo sits on his own, out of tune from this world, as he stares at absolutely nothing at all, he is centre of the universe. He is the centre of Minghao’s universe, the axis that keeps him from spinning off into obscurity, floating off into space. Wonwoo, he knows nothing about this, knows nothing about the things he does to Minghao.
Which is great. Minghao would like to keep it that way.
- Xu Minghao, in every sense, is unnecessarily afraid.
“Why do you look like someone is constantly stepping on your foot? There’s like, so much pain written on your face, dude,” Mingyu says.
“I don’t.”
“You do. Quit staring, that’s rude,” Mingyu grumbles, “Who are you even staring at? Hansol? Wonwoo? It looks like it’s Wonwoo in your trajectory, did he drown your kittens or something?
“I don’t even have kittens Mingyu, shut the fuck up. i’m not staring at anybody,” Minghao hisses.
“You are!” Kim Mingyu insists, his lack of an Indoor Voice commanding the attention of the rest of the people in the room.
Minghao is in a losing, pointless battle. This is all Mingyu’s fault.
“I was just… staring at the wall. Like, it has amazing tapestry. Don’t you think the texture looks realistic?” Minghao cakes on the fake enthusiasm but it’s all falling apart, the way a face still looks like shit if you use a patchy foundation three shades lighter than your skin tone.
Mingyu gets up in exasperation, stomping his foot like a child, secretly sulking because his mutually proclaimed best friend is too preoccupied with whatever he’s doing to give him the time of the day. Before he gives up and leaves to chat with the rest of his friends, he flicks minghao’s forehead lightly.
“You do know it’s just a plain, white wall, don’t you?”
Minghao watches Mingyu with his mouth agape as he moves to sit in the chair next to Wonwoo. Everything about Mingyu is easy, or at least it looks easy. The way he melds into every person he’s with, the way he fits next to Wonwoo like a hand slipping into a well-worn glove of the perfect size, the way he’s able to strike up a conversation with just about anybody but Minghao on days where Minghao’s introversion takes over.
He’s envious.
From the corner of his eyes, Mingyu’s beckoning him to come over.There’s a big ol’ sincere smile on his face, the kind that variety show PDs would exaggerate with CGI of sun rays streaming out of his glow-framed face.
And there Wonwoo sits next to him, gentle and amused, no CGI, no airs about him. Minghao bites his lips to prevent himself from blurting out anything stupid. If Minghao were the PD of this show he’d put a crown adorned with sapphires on Wonwoo’s head, a wreath around his neck, and the swirling galaxy as the background. The caption for the frame would be, in Victorian-style font and at the bottom of the screen in gold; “Thank You For Existing”.
Minghao shakes his head at Mingyu, attempting to play it cool.
“I asked Wonwoo, and he said he didn’t drown your kittens!” Mingyu shouts unapologetically from across the room, “So just come here!”
Minghao buries his head in his hands and flips Mingyu off. Soulmates, my foot.
- Xu Minghao, in every sense, is unnecessarily farsighted.
Mingyu’s running from the lift to the door, bursting into their shared room, skidding to a stop a few paces ahead of their sofa.
Minghao sips his bubble tea on the sofa as he takes in Mingyu’s wild pupils and flailing arms.
“I’m sorry for not realising it earlier,” Mingyu pants as he makes his way to the sofa.
“Uh-” Minghao stares as Mingyu holds both his hands in his.
“I’m a shitty friend. Oh god. I should have known,” Mingyu is sweating and at this point Minghao is 80% ready to get Mingyu’s inhaler in case he gets an asthma attack before he even gets the words out.
“Known what? Your PIN to your bank account? The formulas for your Further Math pop quiz? My birthday? Don’t worry, it’s not today.”
Mingyu gulps uncomfortably. “It’s none of that.”
Minghao kicks his feet back and resumes his consummation of the bubble tea in his hand. “Then why are you so… squirmy?”
“Junhui and Wonwoo asked me if we were in love. Are you?” Mingyu says, like the world has ended.
Minghao chokes on a pearl.
“Hell no.”
Mingyu exhales like a hot air balloon deflating at touchdown in fast forward.
“That’s great, because like, it’s not a no-homo moment it’s just that I’ve never seen you that way? Like I see you with your shirt off and I’m just like, yeah, nice, that’s Xu Minghao’s tits lounging, nothing more-” Mingyu rambles for eternity in relief, and Minghao’s already rubbing his temples when he gets to the very graphic description of Mingyu’s many experiences with Minghao changing in front of him.
“Why would Wonwoo ask that?” Minghao unintentionally voices his thoughts.
“Junhui asked too,” he points out. “But I don’t really know. It was probably nothing, maybe they found us annoying. Old people,” Mingyu vaguely gestures around as if Junhui and Wonwoo were in the room, before leaving Minghao alone on the couch.
For that two seconds before Mingyu had given the logical explanations, Minghao had already built a head canon of a future where Wonwoo’s jealousy of Mingyu and Minghao’s closeness led him to ask this out of territorial instinct, but reality likes to burst his bubbles at the worst times.
He assumes he wouldn’t be hurting this much if he doesn’t think that far, but really, his relationship with Wonwoo amounts to almost nothing, and he’d be better off spending time not pining over someone he’ll never have.
But when he sleeps that night, the first face that comes to mind is Wonwoo’s and his brain is already weaving make believe stories of fated meetings and improved first impressions, of a Minghao who knew his way around words better, of a Wonwoo who would be, in general, interested in his existence. As his body is lulled to sleep with illusions of hope, he shuts his eyes tighter and hopes the night never ends.