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Chapter Text

Some day, Shang Qinghua will stop falling ass over tit into situations like this.

But it is not this day. Nor does it seem like it’s going to be any day soon, considering he’s woken up naked and clamped under the thick arm of one Mobei Jun, i.e. the most handsome man on Earth, rugby captain, and starring role in many of Shang Qinghua’s right-hand fantasies.

The fact that his arm is even heavier than Shang Qinghua thought it would be is besides the point. He doesn’t have the faculties to appreciate how nice it feels weighing his waist into the mattress right now, because he’s panicking in a supremely restrained manner. Meaning that he’s frozen stiff and hardly daring to breathe in case it wakes the man currently, ah-- spooning him? 

Listen, Shang Qinghua had been drunk, okay? It is not his fault that he is a fun drunk until the clock strikes midnight, and then the spell wears off and he becomes a monstrous, horny creature . It’s also not his fault that Mobei Jun was present at the utterly doomed frat party, looking gorgeous with his collarbones out. That is entirely Mobei Jun’s fault alone and Shang Qinghua refuses to take responsibility for him. He barely takes responsibility for himself, thank you!

Shang Qinghua takes a fortifying breath and carefully eases himself out from under the tree trunk of Mobei Jun’s arm; the fact that it takes both of his skinny little noodle arms to lift it is something he will one hundred percent examine later when he’s alone and hydrated and in his own bed. Right-handed, of course.

Mobei Jun grunts unhappily as his arm is resettled on the mattress, and Shang Qinghua freezes, weighing his escape options if the guy wakes up. He probably has a better chance of jumping out the window than he does sprinting for the door, but maybe if he pretends to faint, Mobei Jun will just mercifully toss his body into the hallway or something.

Mobei Jun gropes blindly over the covers for a second before fisting a handful of duvet and dragging it towards him, a pinch forming between his eyebrows. Shang Qinghua waits until he’s sure Mobei Jun is still asleep to start moving, but Mobei Jun’s fist is gripping the covers hard enough to make the muscles in his arm leap, so he doesn’t dare breathe out. Instead, he grabs the clothes that look like his and slips silently out of the door. Only once he’s in the hallway does he shove the jumper and sweats on before leaning against the wall. He lets out a long, shaky breath whilst the anxiety seeps in.

So.

He had sex with Mobei Jun.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Shang Qinghua mostly isn’t stupid.

Alcohol has always affected his memory poorly; a double edged sword, since he forgets both the embarrassing and the fun moments. But he knows he had sex, because the evidence is stamped in hickies up his throat and an ache in his muscles that says he lost one round with a fly-half, went back for another four and lost those as well. There are scratches on his thighs and shoulders that don’t fit his fingers. 

He knows he had sex.

With Mobei Jun, nonetheless. 

And as the alcohol in his blood dictates, he remembers very little of it beyond the blurred sensory memory of teeth latching onto his throat and sheets scratching under his knees. That would be just fine with Shang Qinghua, who honestly wants to put this whole ordeal behind him and never examine it ever again, except now he’s back in his dorm, it’s obvious that half the clothes he’s wearing aren’t his.

The jumper he’d snagged completely dwarves his body, loose enough in the shoulders that his collarbones are exposed, and the hem reaches almost to mid-thigh. Shang Qinghua curses his hungover hindbrain for distracting him with the warmth of sweaters paws, which he definitely has because the sleeves are far too long. Shang Qinghua leans back on the dorm room door and daydreams about training a carrier pigeon to drop the stupidly cosy jumper through Mobei Jun’s window or something.

Unfortunately, before he can sneak into his room to semi-seriously search local aviaries, his roommate appears from the kitchen, coffee in one hand and toothbrush in the other.

“Airplane, is that you? Where did you even end up last night? I thought you got kidnapped or something,” Shen Yuan says, barely looking up. He looks unfairly put together for someone who had definitely drunk less than Shang Qinghua on a quarter of the tolerance, but that’s what expensive skin products do for you, probably.

Shang Qinghua makes a passingly alive sound and slumps heavier against the door. Maybe if he’s pathetic enough, the ground will take pity and let him sink through it. Shen Yuan looks up at him. He blinks as he takes in Shang Qinghua’s limp stance, a wickedly knowing grin spilling over his face. 

“Oh. So that’s where you went,” Shen Yuan comments airily, like he’s not devouring every single one of Shang Qinghua’s regrets whole. 

“Shut up,” Shang Qinghua shoots back half-heartedly. There’s a headache building behind his eyes and he can’t face this hostile environment before he has any caffeine in him. “Didn’t you go back to Luo Binghe’s?”

It doesn’t quite wipe the smile off Shen Yuan’s face, but talking about Luo Binghe is always a failsafe way to change the topic. His roommate’s eyes go disgustingly moony before he remembers he's supposed to be bullying Shang Qinghua. 

“I stayed at his,” Shen Yuan goes back to idly brushing his teeth, which looks like a crime when he’s still holding a mug of coffee. “Binghe had to leave early for rugby training. He just texted, actually, to say Mobei Jun was absent this morning.”

“Is that so,” Shang Qinghua replies, aiming to be dismissive and only sort of succeeding. His throat is scraped raw in a very specific way he’s not equipped to think about right now. Caffeine will help; Shang Qinghua beelines for the coffee machine.

Shen Yuan’s eyes follow him the whole way, making the massive jumper he’s wearing feel- Not less soft, but conspicuous, definitely. Carrier pigeons aren’t expensive, right?

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Shen Yuan ventures, because he’s nosy as hell and for once, Shang Qinghua isn’t word vomiting. 

“I’m going to inhale this coffee,” Shang Qinghua decides. “And then I’m going back to bed to sleep ten hours so I can finish this essay before finals week.”

“Oh? Did you not get much sleep yesterday evening?”

Shen Yuan’s tone is so coy that just for that, Shang Qinghua is going to steal his pricey mineral moisturiser. And probably use it wrong, too. Something about toner going first that he doesn’t care about.

“Good night, bro!” Shang Qinghua calls over his shoulder, already mentally under his duvet.

Shen Yuan snorts. “And a good morning to you, too!”

Shang Qinghua kicks his door shut. The resulting bang is loud enough for him to feel a little bad about it, at least about the already crumbling drywall. Shen Yuan has been putting up with his pathetic pining for over a year now, though, so he should fill him in once he’s slept off the grogginess. 

The warmth of the mug seeps through the sweater paws covering Shang Qinghua’s hands, making the whole jumper feel that much cosier. He has Shen Yuan’s rich family to thank for the fact that they have central heating during the winter months on campus, even though Shen Yuan still insists on keeping the thermostat down for the environment or whatever. Perhaps the carrier pigeons can wait a week.

Shang Qinghua is in the process of burrito-wrapping his body in duvet when his phone pings under his butt. It’s a miracle he didn’t lose it at that party, and he sends a giddy prayer to the Heavens as he digs it out of his bundle. 

UNKNOWN NUMBER> Where did you go?

Oh, well. That’s not ominous or anything. Shang Qinghua is a pretty chatty drunk, and mostly not stupid, so most likely he made some new friends at the party yesterday and just forgot to save their names to his phone.

Hey! rly sorry but i dnt hav this # saved 2 my phone. Whos this? <Airplane

The reply text comes almost immediately.

UNKNOWN NUMBER> Mobei Jun

Shang Qinghua yeets the phone across the room. It makes an awful clattering noise against the wall that sends Shang Qinghua squeaking after it, because he’s fucked if it’s broken. The screen luckily remains intact and stamped with thumb prints. It’s hard to be thankful for that, though, because Mobei Jun’s text glares up at him in glorious, undamaged HD. What the fuck is he meant to reply?

Mobei Jun spares him the trouble.

UNKNOWN NUMBER> I have your clothes.

It’s ridiculous to find that hot. It’s not hot, it’s awkward and kind of scary and Shang Qinghua is running on yesterday’s bad decisions that include too much beer and some very vigorous sex, apparently.

ahahaha yh i thnk i mb picked up urs by mistake? i cn get Binghe 2 return thm 2 u <Airplane

He winces as he reads the message back after hitting send. There’s panic sitting in every typo, and Mobei Jun seems like the kind of guy to judge that sort of thing.

UNKNOWN NUMBER> Hm.

UNKNOWN NUMBER> I will pick you up at 8.

Or maybe not? Or! OR!! He’s leading Shang Qinghua to a second location to quietly murder him. It speaks volumes about his self esteem that Shang Qinghua is still tempted to go. Still, his self-preservation is rampant amid the hangover, so he quickly types a reply.

aaaah sry no can do!!! ive gt n essay 2 finish so i ws gna just stay in 2nite <Airplane

UNKNOWN NUMBER> Bring your laptop.

At this moment, Shang Qinghua’s survival instinct is telling him not to argue with the two hundred pound rugby player who knows what he looks like naked, so…

Looks like Mobei Jun is picking him up at eight.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Shang Qinghua really doesn’t want to be here. 

‘Here’ being the sidewalk outside his apartment where the pavement is still damp from this afternoon’s rain. The winter has begun to creep in, turning the dry crispness of Autumn into something cold and perpetually soggy. Shang Qinghua can’t afford a good coat, and his shoes haven’t quite dried out in over two months so he’s stuck shivering until Mobei Jun shows up to return his clothes and/or murder him.

Mobei Jun’s massive jumper is probably the warmest thing in his possession at the moment, and the sore temptation to put it on is only quelled by the horrifying idea that Mobei Jun might see Shang Qinghua wearing it. For now, Shang Qinghua presses the freshly laundered garment to his chest to keep the cold out.

Really, he’d just wanted to go to the cute new midnight café that opened a little ways off campus. Shang Qinghua has always lamented that late night establishments are too noisy and the library doesn’t serve coffee, and then the universe had sent him the perfect solution. It makes sense that it would come with a Mobei Jun sized caveat.

“Shang Qinghua.”

The deep voice by his ear makes Shang Qinghua leap about a mile in the air. Mobei Jun is standing beside him, peering down at Shang Qinghua with a rather marvellous frown. How he’d managed to arrive so silently only adds to his general scariness.

“Wha- HI! Hello, hi um-” Shang Qinghua yelps, half-lifting the folded jumper in front of himself for protection.

Mobei Jun’s eyes flick down to it curiously, and his brow furrows further.

“A- ah! Your jumper!” Shang Qinghua holds it out with a weird abortive half-bow, biting the inside of his cheek. Gods, why is he like this? It’s not like he’s never spoken to Mobei Jun before. They’ve known each other for over a year now. “Sorry, I mistakenly took it with me after uh- When we-- hm! Um, I picked it up by mistake?”

Mobei Jun just blinks as if Shang Qinghua isn’t speaking Chinese, and you know what? Fair! He barely understands himself half the time. 

“It was an accident!” Shang Qinghua adds, a little desperately. “I didn’t do anything weird, I promise, I uh- I washed it!” 

Wow. If he doesn’t get murdered, the first thing he’s going to do when he gets home is staple his mouth shut. 

Thankfully, Mobei Jun takes the jumper from his trembling hands and tucks it inside his coat before Shang Qinghua says something even worse.

“Come,” is all Mobei Jun says, and then he starts off down the sidewalk without a backward glance.

Logically, this is where Shang Qinghua should make a run for it and escape his inevitable slaughter. But his brain is still fighting the lingering alcohol in his bloodstream, and Mobei Jun is wearing a black coat that looks tailored to his exact shoulder measurements, so really, Shang Qinghua can’t be expected to handle both at once.

He follows Mobei Jun, trotting to keep up.

Wherever they’re going, it’s off campus; Mobei Jun is taking them to the edge of the media buildings where the college gates puncture the surrounding suburbs. The area is nice enough, but the silence between them as they walk is too crippling to really appreciate it. 

They’re turning onto a familiar street when Shang Qinghua finally recognises where they are.

“Oh! Hey, this is the café I wanted to check out!” he cries as he spots the warm glow of the square frame windows. The whole establishment looks kind of like a woodlodge, so cute!

Mobei Jun just hums and starts towards it, holding the door open for Shang Qinghua expectantly. It could be considered gentlemanly if he didn’t look quite so imperious; Shang Qinghua scampers past him before Mobei Jun changes his mind and beats him to death with the door or something.

He guides them to a table tucked away near the window and presses Shang Qinghua into a seat with a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Sit,” Mobei Jun orders, like Shang Qinghua might run away without direction which- Okay, yeah. Also fair.

When Shang Qinghua fishes around for his wallet, Mobei Jun just glares ferociously at him until he puts it away. “Did you bring your laptop?”

“Did I- Huh, yeah! Yes, I did,” Shang Qinghua stammers. 

“Good. Work.”

Mobei Jun doesn’t stay to see if Shang Qinghua does as asked. He glides away towards the counter, and Shang Qinghua feels emotionally wrung out enough that letting his dream man buy him coffee doesn’t sound too bad, actually - impending death notwithstanding. It’s still kind of embarrassing to drag his clunky brick of a device onto the polished wood table.

Shang Qinghua’s ten year old laptop is dying, but if he pretends it isn’t hard enough, then it might last a little longer. He only needs it to last until the end of the semester, and by that time he might have stored up enough courage to call his dad and ask for another one. The longer he can put that off, the better, though; there’s a reason he’s staying on campus for the winter break.

The laptop is so ancient that he’s only just convinced it to open his assignment by the time Mobei Jun gets back with their drinks. The coffee he nudges at Shang Qinghua is blessedly dark, and also a jarringly plain comparison to the mug of foam and cinnamon he cradles towards himself. Shang Qinghua blinks at it; he’s seen Mobei Jun with coffee before, but it’s always been in a lidded cup. He never would have pinned the guy to have a sweet tooth, but Shang Qinghua greedily stores that information somewhere in the back of his mind under lock and key. 

For reasons. 

Personal ones.

“Sooooo,” he starts, puffing out a breath. “Are you uh- Have you finished your assignments or…?”

“Mn” Mobei Jun hums, flicking a hard look in Shang Qinghua’s direction. “You have not.”

“That- uh, nope! No, I haven’t, not yet! Just got this one and one more to do, but-”

“Stop,” Mobei Jun grunts, and Shang Qinghua shuts his mouth so fast his teeth click. “Work.”

Well, okay then! Maybe this is all part of the murder plot; get Shang Qinghua to submit his essay so it looks like he’s still in college for a few more weeks before people start looking for his body. He’s not familiar with the rituals.

Still, it’s hard to focus on whatever his essay is supposed to be about when Mobei Jun is just watching him silently with that intense gaze. Honestly, Shang Qinghua can’t work in this kind of hostile environment! It takes ten minutes of fidgeting for Mobei Jun to lean back in his seat and finally look away-- Gods, his side profile is gorgeous. And almost as distracting as the glaring. Maybe this is karmic retribution for Shang Qinghua sleeping with him and running away. Whatever it is, it’s ruining what was almost a very nice evening.

Shang Qinghua keeps sneaking sideways glances at Mobei Jun as he types, just to see if he can guess the guy’s expression, but Mobei Jun’s face is stony as always. He probably looks like that when he laughs. If he laughs; Shang Qinghua had heard it once, a deep chuff of air at something Luo Binghe said, but when he’d looked up to see what expression went with it, Mobei Jun’s face was the same as usual.

He’s trying his best to imagine what a smile would look like around that chiselled jaw when Mobei Jun turns his head and- oh fuck. A row of purpling hickeys marches up the pale column of his jugular, unmistakable for bruises. Shang Qinghua knows if he fit his teeth into them, they’d match the shape of his bite. The thought makes his toes cramp. 

Mobei Jun hasn’t said anything about last night, and Shang Qinghua definitely isn’t going to raise the issue - Perhaps Mobei Jun sort of forgot, too? Hopefully? His tolerance has always been a moving target; even drunk, his face doesn’t change.

Shang Qinghua shifts a little in his seat and tries his best not to look like he’s squirming, downing the rest of his coffee like a shot. Mobei Jun glances at the empty mug and swipes it from Shang Qinghua’s hand before he even sets it back on the table.

“Wait!” Shang Qinghua scrambles as Mobei Jun gets to his feet, nearly smacking his laptop off the table in the process. “I can pay for-”

Oh, no-- okay. Mobei Jun is already at the counter, flashing his card to get another drink. And you know what? If an absolute Adonis like Mobei Jun wants to personally fund Shang Qinghua’s caffeine reliance, that’s fine by him! Might as well get a few in before he’s buried in the woods. Shang Qinghua starts typing ‘ does coffee speed up corpse decomposition?’ into a search engine before Mobei Jun starts back towards the table, and he nearly breaks the touch pad slamming the tab closed. 

Strangely, Mobei Jun doesn’t say a word to him the entire time they sit there. Once Shang Qinghua has deemed himself out of immediate danger, he finally uncoils enough to actually focus on his essay. Like he predicted, the background hum of the café provides enough ambience for his brain to slide into a functioning state, and even Mobei Jun’s intimidating presence at his side moves into some lateral sort of pleasance. 

It’s an indeterminate amount of time later that Shang Qinghua stretches out his cramping fingers to the chorus of clicking joints, and finally zones back into the room. When he lifts his head, Mobei Jun is already looking at him. Instinctively, Shang Qinghua freezes. It’s a small prey response to being caught in the stare of a predator, but for once, Mobei Jun isn’t glaring. Rather, the soft honey-glow of the café lights have softened the piercing blue of his eyes into something pewter grey and malleable. 

It makes Shang Qinghua feel inside out; his body is trapped stock-still whilst his heart shakes within.

“Finished?”

Shang Qinghua blinks, reanimating a beat too late. He’d definitely been staring.

“I’m- Yeah. Yes, I’m done!” It might be the late hour making him slow, even though Shang Qinghua is basically nocturnal at this point. He’s not gonna claim any other reason for his sluggish brain, though. “Huh. I’m actually done! I didn’t think I’d manage to finish the essay this week.”

Mobei Jun makes an appreciative hum. “Shang Qinghua works better at night.”

Well, isn’t that a statement considering last night they-

Shang Qinghua stiffens and doesn’t dare look up from the empty mug in his hands; he doesn’t know what’s happening on his face and he doesn’t want to find out, either. Mobei Jun suddenly stands from the table. He’s so massive that he casts a shadow over Shang Qinghua as he peers down at him expectantly. Shang Qinghua peers back, expecting the murder to come now, then. 

They stare at each other for a moment before Mobei Jun frowns, his eyes flitting to Shang Qinghua’s clunky laptop in clear frustration.

“Oh!” Shang Qinghua squeaks, slapping the machine closed and sliding it back into his bag. Might as well be prompt for an execution or whatever. Perhaps he should have emailed his essay off first though, seems like a waste to have it stuck on his computer.

The door hasn’t even swung shut behind them when Shang Qinghua shivers with his entire body. One day his lack of funds will surely kill him, but if he jogs to keep up with Mobei Jun’s long stride, the warmth might let him live another day. The brick-weight of the laptop smacks painfully against his spine, and Shang Qinghua manages a wince just before his entire bag is lifted off his person and Mobei Jun slides it over one shoulder.

“Hey!” Shang Qinghua shouts reflexively, and then shrinks back when Mobei Jun shoots him a searing look. Self-preservation, Qinghua!

The bag had been keeping some body heat trapped, however, and without it he has to fight to suppress another shiver. Mobei Jun stops walking, the iciness of his gaze dropping the entire atmosphere a few more degrees.

“You are cold,” he says in a way that could probably be a question if he weren’t glaring so hard.

The smile Shang Qinghua shoots back is all chattering teeth. “A-ah, no? I’m okay, it’s- I just forgot to bring a warmer jacket.”

As if he owns one. The confession only makes Mobei Jun’s frown more severe and he abruptly shoves Shang Qinghua’s laptop bag back at him with one hand. Shang Qinghua scrambles to catch it; if he drops it on the tarmac, there’s no way he’s finishing the school year. It takes both hands to steady the weight, and he’s just about to sigh with relief when something drops over his head and he flails so hard he nearly tosses the bag straight onto the concrete. 

It’s lifted off him before such a tragedy can occur. Shang Qinghua grapples against the thing covering him until his head breaks the surface with a theatrical gasp. Mobei Jun is watching him impatiently, so effortlessly serene that Shang Qinghua feels like a comical mess beside him. The laptop bag is back safely over Mobei Jun’s shoulder.

“Put it on,” Mobei Jun says flatly.

Put wh-- oh. Shang Qinghua untangles his limbs enough that he can see the thing Mobei Jun tossed over him was his sleek black coat. It’s soft in his hands, and he can tell already that it’s going to be ridiculously warm. As he stares at it, Mobei Jun makes a sharp, unhappy noise. Shang Qinghua flails even harder trying to get the garment on, but he manages it without giving himself a black eye. As soon as he buttons it shut, the warmth seems to sink into his very skin, and Shang Qinghua sighs, utterly content. 

When he glances over to say thank you, the words stick to the back of his teeth. Mobei Jun is watching him with an expression that could almost be called… Smug?

“Warm?” he asks, like Shang Qinghua didn’t dissolve into goop in front of him.

“Ah, uh! Mn!!” 

There was a confirmation in there somewhere - Mobei Jun seems satisfied with it, at least. He starts walking again without a backward glance, and Shang Qinghua just glides after him, safe against the elements in a coat that probably costs more than his rent. 

He’s all but forgotten about the whole night-before-thing when they arrive outside his apartment. Reality stains his cosy reverie when the 2AM panic finally kicks in. Mobei Jun turns to face him so quickly that Shang Qinghua nearly walks into him, and it leaves them standing an uncomfortable distance from one another, just slightly too close to be considered polite. 

Shang Qinghua doesn’t do well with long silences; something that becomes unbearably evident the longer Mobei Jun simply stares at him. What’s the polite thing to do in this scenario? He has an inkling that he should invite Mobei Jun up, but it’s being screamed over by the awareness of exactly what that would sound like.

“Ummm, ah- You! Hah… Thank you! For-” Shang Qinghua gestures with both arms in the direction that they’ve just come from and then at his laptop bag. He probably looks insane. “And ummm-”

Mobei Jun finally breaks his stony muteness when Shang Qinghua fumbles with the buttons of his expensive coat, folding one of his huge hands over both of Shang Qinghua’s.

“Keep it,” he rumbles, and they’re standing so close that Shang Qinghua can feel the vibration of his voice. Too close! 

“Ah? No no! No, I’ll- I couldn’t possibly!” Shang Qinghua will probably spill instant noodles on it or something and the dry cleaning alone will devour his grocery budget for the month. 

“It’s cold,” Mobei Jun insists, as if that settles the matter, and then mercifully steps back. If his hand lingers a moment on Shang Qinghua’s, it’s probably the late hour making his senses lag. 

“Oh… Okay,” Shang Qinghua gets out; his body is betraying him, relaxing now that the threat of being left cold again has gone. “I’ll return it later, ah? As soon as possible, I promise!”

Mobei Jun just hums in a way that sounds like neither a confirmation or a rebuke and passes back the leaden laptop bag. “Sleep well, Qinghua.”

And then he turns on his heel and walks off into the night like some sort of mysterious hero in a romance novel. Shang Qinghua aches to write about it as he stands there choking on his own spit, but he could churn out ten thousand words a day for a year and still wouldn’t be able to capture Mobei Jun on page. 

Mobei Jun had called him Qinghua. Just his name, like-

Oh fuck, like they were that familiar. Because of course they are. Shang Qinghua’s face burns so hard that he’s tugging at the coat’s collar on the way up to his apartment. Thankfully Shen Yuan isn’t in - probably staying at Luo Binghe’s tonight. It means that the breakdown Shang Qinghua is currently having is mercifully free of criticism, and he shrugs the heavy coat off onto his bed. 

The jumper from earlier falls out of the pocket as it lands, so he’s successfully stolen two items of clothing from Mobei Jun in one day. And Mobei Jun didn’t even murder him earlier so! So!!!

Shang Qinghua has already burned through most of his terror, so it’s easier for the temptation to slide in when he thinks… Well. The jumper was really warm? And even though it doesn’t smell like Mobei Jun anymore, he knows it belongs to the guy.

He indulges in ten whole seconds of hesitance before thinking a hearty fuck it and stripping down to his boxers. The jumper is just as cosy as it was the first time, and Shang Qinghua presses his face into the sleeves that pool beyond his knuckles. Incredibly, it still retains a sliver of Mobei Jun’s cologne; the woody scent of pine and something sharp that reminds him of winter. Probably French.

It’s easy to sink into the scent. Shang Qinghua buries himself beneath his duvet and pretends, eyes closed and quiet, that it’s Mobei Jun wrapped around him instead.

Chapter Text

“Tell me everything,” Shen Yuan demands when he finally corners Shang Qinghua in the library.

Shang Qinghua has been ducking him all day - he secured a few peaceful hours by throwing Luo Binghe in his boyfriend’s direction, but it’s less than he was hoping for.

“What’s to tell?” he answers without looking up. It means he misses the chance to dodge the textbook that smacks him in the head.

“About your date, obviously,” Shen Yuan snips, and then horrifically opens his textbook. He’s planning to stay for a while, then.

Shang Qinghua pouts and dramatically rubs his head. It doesn’t actually hurt, but it’s the principle. “It wasn’t a date, bro! I thought he was going to murder me and bury my body in the woods, but he just took me to that new late night café and glared me into finishing my essay! I thought I was gonna pee myself for like, the first hour!”

He hadn’t, thank god, despite the amount of coffee Mobei Jun had been buying him.

“If he buys you a drink, it’s a date,” Shen Yuan argues. “But tell me what he said. ”

“Very little,” Shang Qinghua replies. “He really did just glare at me the whole time.”

Shen Yuan frowns. “You mean he didn’t talk to you about-”

“Nope! No no, uh- There was- We didn’t… Talk about any of that!” Shang Qinghua waves his hands like he can bat the topic away, and sort of so Shen Yuan can’t look directly at his face. He knows he turns an ugly shade of red when he flushes and he doesn’t really want the critique today. “I did finish my essay though.”

“Wow, how long were you there for?”

Shang Qinghua sticks his tongue out at Shen Yuan and receives another swat with the textbook for it. He’s opening his mouth to complain when his phone buzzes.

❄️️ > Have you eaten?

Shang Qinghua stares at the message and has the visceral sensation of being eight years old at his aunt’s house. Has Mobei Jun never heard of text speak?

ahahahaaaa nt yet! Just gotta finsh th notes 4 ths module! < Airplane

❄️️ > Where are you?

“Is that him?” Shen Yuan asks, craning his neck unsubtly to peer over Shang Qinghua’s shoulder. “What’s he saying?”

“Nothing much,” Shang Qinghua replies, which isn’t even a lie.

“Why are you being so cagey?” Shen Yuan demands, fixing him with an affronted look. “I tell you everything.”

He doesn’t. He goes bright red whenever Shang Qinghua so much as implies anything about his relationship with Luo Binghe, and then turns his head away, revealing the hickies up his neck, which tells Shang Qinghua more than he wants to know anyway.

in th library why? < Airplane

He doesn’t get a reply, which does absolutely nothing for Shang Qinghua’s anxiety. Maybe Mobei Jun has come back to kill him properly this time and is just waiting between the rolling stacks to pounce. It’s half-tempting to text him and ask him to wait until after finals, please.

“Did you work out what you’re doing for winter break yet?” Shen Qingqiu interrupts Shang Qinghua’s mental list of ways to evade capture. He hasn’t even opened his notebook yet, confirming he’s only there to be nosy and not actually to study.

Shang Qinghua sighs, giving up on his already shitty focus. “I think I’m just gonna stay here, bro. I could use the time to catch up on studying and stuff.”

‘Stuff’ being writing his shitty web novel for a slew of aggressively demanding yet perfectly well-paying readers. Shen Yuan holds the podium for most demanding and well-paying of the lot, but he clearly doesn’t understand how the money literally pays for Shang Qinghua’s dirt cheap instant ramen. We can’t all be doctors, Cucumber-bro!

Shen Yuan regards him for a while before he replies, the downward tick of his mouth the only indicator of his pity. Shang Qinghua kind of wishes he didn’t know Shen Yuan well enough to recognise it. 

“Are you going to be okay on your own?” Shen Yuan asks. “I can stay if it’ll make things easier.”

“No nono! Hahaaaaa, bro, you don’t have to do that much!” Shang Qinghua yelps quickly. “Seriously, it might be nice just to have a bit of ‘me’ time, y’know?”

It’s a soft way to phrase “staring at the wall for a week whilst I marinate on the fact that my parents don’t care about me.” But Shang Qinghua would rather be alone than spend all winter break with Shen Yuan looking at him sympathetically after he gave up a holiday with his perfect, loving family to keep Shang Qinghua company. 

He deliberately picks up his pen again, ducking his head into his notes because Shen Yuan is giving him that exact expression right now.

“Fine,” Shen Yuan concedes after a moment. “Is there anything you want to do before the term ends?” 

“Yes! Like, right now I want to finish writing my notes on this class,” Shang Qinghua grumbles, and immediately feels kind of bad. His friend was only trying to help.

Then Shen Yuan smacks him again and Shang Qinghua’s guilt evaporates. Libraries are meant to be a place of peace and quiet.

“Binghe is having a party,” Shen Yuan informs him, ignoring the yelp of pain Shang Qinghua lets out. “Before we leave. Obviously you’re invited.”

“Obviously,” Shang Qinghua says. He’s utterly certain that Binghe doesn’t want him there, and that it wasn’t his idea to have a party at all. Too many eyes that could potentially look in Shen Yuan’s general direction or whatever.

Shen Yuan glances sidelong at him. “Don’t drink this time.”

“Bro. I’m gonna drink if someone else is paying.”

“Don’t drink so much, then.”

“You can’t stop me.”

The sigh Shen Yuan releases is at least fifty percent hiss. He’s clearly warming up to a good glare when his eyes drift to something over Shang Qinghua’s shoulder, widening slightly. It’s all the warning Shang Qinghua gets before a tupperware slams on the table beside his elbow with a loud BANG! 

Shang Qinghua makes a noise he will forever deny, nearly toppling out of his seat with fright. Mobei Jun glares down at him cowering in his chair. 

“Lunch.”

“... What?” The question comes out as a wheeze, since Shang Qinghua’s soul is actively trying to evaporate.

Mobei Jun frowns harder, just as Shen Yuan claps one hand against the desk, drawing his gaze. Shang Qinghua will have to thank him later for saving him from a swift execution.

“Lunchtime! Thank you, Mobei,” he says blithely, a fake-ass smile tipping his mouth. Shang Qinghua stares in horror as his friend slides on his jacket. “I’m meeting Binghe. Have fun, you too!”

Shang Qinghua takes it back. He will not be thanking Shen Yuan for anything. He will be suffocating Shen Yuan in his sleep.

Mobei Jun doesn’t even mutter a farewell when Shen Yuan wafts out of the library. His eyes are trained steadily on Shang Qinghua wilting in front of him, and he jabs the tupperware closer to Shang Qinghua’s arm.

“You said you hadn’t eaten yet.”

“Oh?”
Cowering under the face Mobei Jun makes in response, Shang Qinghua pries open the tupperware and gingerly digs the proffered chopsticks into its contents, nearly stabbing his own hand in the process. The chair next to him creaks as Mobei Jun plants himself in it. He watches like a hawk when Shang Qinghua takes his first bite of the food and nearly chokes. 

“Did you…” Shang Qinghua pauses to swallow, tears springing in his eyes. “Did you cook this?” 

“Mn.”

“Oh. It’s… Mobei it’s--”

It’s awful. 

At least ten flavours are competing for dominance and not one of them is good. There’s enough salt in the food to preserve his guts for the next century, and it’s somehow both slimy AND gritty, like Mobei Jun had ground some kind of grain into the vegetables, if that’s even what the orange lumps at the bottom of the dish are.

“--so gooood,” Shang Qinghua slurs around the mouthful. 

Mobei Jun’s brow furrows to a terrifying degree, so he shoots him a weak thumbs up, gamely swallowing the eye-watering mouthful. It feels like it’s sanding his insides on the way down, but Mobei Jun at least stops looking like he wants to shove the cutlery down Shang Qinghua’s throat right behind it. 

“Mn,” he grunts. Then, horrifyingly, he nudges the tupperware an inch closer. “Eat.”

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

“You ate the whole thing?! ” 

Shen Yuan nearly drops his chopsticks into his beautifully cooked noodles. Binghe made them, so naturally they’re perfect, but the caustic pain cramping Shang Qinghua’s stomach means he can’t even bring himself to feel envious.

“What was I meant to do, bro? He just sat right next to me and glared until I finished it, and I didn’t want to get stabbed by a chopstick. I have exams, you know!”

“Couldn’t you have just said you weren’t hungry?”

It’s too much effort to argue with Shen Yuan. Instead, Shang Qinghua just groans and folds his face onto the table, arms stacked to form a barrier against haters. He had tried to say that he wasn’t hungry, but Mobei Jun had honest to heavens bared his teeth so he didn’t give it a second attempt.

“Not everyone has a Gary Stu boyfriend who cooks perfect meals and braids our hair, Cucumber-bro. Some of us have super hot serial killers who try to poison and/or crush us, and we have to be happy with that. It’s the only attention we get.”

“You think he’s stalking you?” Shen Yuan pauses, tapping open his phone with a frown.

“Well… No. I told him I was in the library. Thanks for abandoning me, by the way.”

“Stop complaining. You got to be alone with Mobei, didn’t you?”

“Did you not hear the part where he tried to poison me to my face, or do you just not care?”

“You can come to your own conclusion.”

“Oh fuck you!” Shang Qinghua pushes away from the table, immediately wincing when it makes his stomach roll. “I know you can just pay to take another year if you flunk this one, but if I fail then I’m out on the street! I’ll have to sell my body, and there’s only a very niche market for chubby college dropouts.”

Shen Yuan looks quite enraged, the same way he always does when he’s reminded of his wealth. But a second later he bites his lip, guilt flashing across his features before he drops his chopsticks neatly across his bowl. 

“Stop squawking and go lie down on the couch,” he orders, pushing up from the table abruptly. He glares when Shang Qinghua opens his mouth to retort. “Now.”

Shang Qinghua goes and lies down on the couch, but he’s muttering bloody murder under his breath the whole way there. Behind him, Shen Yuan stomps off into the bathroom, only to manifest beside the couch a few minutes later brandishing a bottle of pills and a mug of ginger tea.

“Take these,” he says curtly, shoving the bottle into Shang Qinghua’s nose. It’s an anti-acid. Shang Qinghua didn’t even know they had medicine in the cabinet. “And drink this.”

The tea comes very close to spilling as Shen Yuan shoves that at him as well. Luckily, it’s just shy of being hot, perfect drinking temperature.

“Feel better,” Shen Yuan orders before tugging a blanket over Shang Qinghua’s legs. “There’s a party at Wei Qingwei’s tonight and you’re coming.”

The tea is already helping soothe the painful stomach cramps, but Shang Qinghua takes another sip to stall before answering. “I don’t know, bro. I kind of feel like death? I don’t think drinking is going to help.”

“Binghe’s taking me, but Pei Ming will be there so I’m not going sober.” Shen Yuan hesitates before adding, “Mobei Jun is coming, too.”

Fuck everything, Shang Qinghua will be drinking even if it kills him. For now, he tugs the blanket up to his chin and sticks one foot out from underneath to poke Shen Yuan in the leg with his toe. “Thanks for this, Shen Yuan.”

Shen Yuan smacks him on the ankle. “Shut up.”

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

By the fourth hour of wheedling good deeds and repeat cups of tea out of a very snippy Shen Yuan, Shang Qinghua is feeling somewhat revived. His stomach still aches if he moves too much, but it’s not far to the Cang Qiong dorm block so he goes. Binghe meets them halfway, sliding an arm around Shen Yuan’s waist and making every effort to exclude Shang Qinghua from the conversation, which honestly suits Shang Qinghua just fine. He doesn’t want to talk to Binghe when he feels this delicate. What he does want to do is make some very bad decisions and drink enough to forget making them. 

Classic deniable plausibility, or something adjacent at least.

“Here you go, A-Yuan,” Binghe coos, handing Shen Yuan a beer. He gives Shang Qinghua a flat look. “Sorry, Shang-ge. It seems I forgot to get you one.”

“Binghe,” Shen Yuan scolds, but he takes the offered beer.

Shang Qinghua laughs shakily. He honestly hates third wheeling and this is a perfect excuse to leave. “No problem, I’ll just get my own!”

The couple don’t even glance his way as Shang Qinghua slides into the crowd, heading back the way Binghe had come in mad pursuit of a drink. He finds the table in short order; students circle the kitchen island like sharks, snapping up beers and solo cups ready for filling. A wide bowl of punch crowns the spread, undoubtedly spiked, but the only thing Shang Qinghua can reach is beer, which he hates. 

“I’d avoid the punch,” a high voice whispers in his ear, and Shang Qinghua jumps so hard he sends a stack of cups rolling across the table. Sha Hualing is smirking at him from far too close. Her dark hair has been braided into long ropes that fall over her shoulder, drawing attention to what could generously be called a crop top. On a good day. “At least one person has probably spat in it by now.”

“Oh,” Shang Qinghua says, trying to hide his gulp. “Uh, that’s too bad?”

Sha Hualing tilts her head as she watches him subtly try to push away from her, hoping that the crowd will swallow him up and take him away. It doesn’t, naturally, so Shang Qinghua swipes the nearest empty solo cup in the hopes he can maybe throw it as a distraction if he needs to escape.

He only knows Sha Hualing through Luo Binghe. Not because Luo Binghe hangs out with her, but more because on the rare occasions he’s not with Shen Yuan, Sha Hualing will be there vying for his attention. From what Shang Qinghua has heard, she takes business studies in preparation to take over her father’s company. She also holds the record for making at least one person in her class cry every lesson for the entire semester. The last time Shang Qinghua had met her, she’d shaken his hand brisk and formal-like, and dug her nails so hard into his skin that he’d had welts the next day.

Shang Qinghua doesn’t like the way she’s looking at him now, swaying forward a step like a viper ready to pounce.

He likes it even less when she smiles sweetly and says, “Lucky for you, I came prepared.” 

With a rapid flick of her wrist, Sha Hualing produces a glittering silver hip flask and up-ends it directly into Shang Qinghua’s drink. Too quickly for him to  even see what colour the liquor is.

“Uh--” 

Sha Hualing snaps the flask shut and it disappears… Somewhere. She’s not even wearing sleeves. At her sharp look, Shang Qinghua pastes on a weak smile. “What was in that?”

“Poison, obviously!” Sha Hualing’s grin is all sharp teeth. “Alcohol is a toxin, don’t you know? And you’d look very funny choking.”

“On--on the drink?!”

The grin grows wider so Shang Qinghua stops asking questions.

“You’re welcome,” Sha Hualing tells him, flipping one long braid over her shoulder and whipping his eye in the process. She ignores his yelp and flounces off into the crowd.

It’s tempting to just dump the drink, but one mournful look at the out-of-reach liquor across the counter and Shang Qinghua knocks the liquor back in one mouthful before swiping a beer.

Luo Binghe and Shen Yuan have slithered off somewhere by the time he wriggles back through the crowd, which he should have seen coming. With no one else to talk to, Shang Qinghua grabs another beer and takes it upon himself to get gloriously drunk. Even with his stomach churning something awful, it’s hard to pass up free booze.

He’s on his third bottle in as many minutes when Shang Qinghua becomes aware of a warm body leaning against the wall next to him.

“You look like a man on a mission,” says the body, and Shang Qinghua turns to peer blearily up at whoever had spoken. He blinks once. Then a second time, harder, because the body is attached to a very nice face that’s smiling at him. And that’s not something that happens to Shang Qinghua a lot, so it takes him a few seconds to formulate an answer.

He’s apparently quiet for long enough that the guy tips his head mildly towards the beer Shang Qinghua is gripping. He has very nice eyes. Warm and brown, with a few flecks of amber sparkling in them when he turns his head. The fact that he’s close enough for it to be noticeable has Shang Qinghua reflexively shuffling back a few steps. He doesn’t get very far, instead bumping into another person.

“Oh yeah um--” Damn, is he sweating? He’s definitely sweating. “I don’t really like beer so… Best to just get it over with.”

The guy chuckles, like-- Like Shang Qinghu is funny, or something ludicrous. “Well, that’s a shame. I would have asked you out for a drink.”

Is Shang Qinghua dead? Did he slip over on his way to the party and die from head trauma? Yes, probably. Actually, irrefutably, because that’s the only way this is happening.

“I don’t think we’ve met before,” the guy says, holding out his hand. It’s a very nice hand; big, but without the distinct undertone that it’s going to crush Shang Qinghua. “I’m Gongyi Xiao. Sport and exercise science. Second year.”

Shang Qinghua holds out his hand dumbly, realising too late that it’s the one holding the can of shitty beer. Gongyi Xiao takes it from him and replaces it with his own. It’s in a glass bottle for fuck’s sake.

“Cider,” Gongyi Xiao tells him with a wink. Shang Qinghua nearly drops the bottle. He doesn’t because he likes cider, and because he’d have to immediately drop out of school, move country, change his name-- “You’re studying Literature, right?”

“Y-yeah?” Shang Qinghu balks. “How did you know that?”

“I’m on the rugby team, Binghe said you were uh— friends with his boyfriend?”

Shang Qinghua is absolutely certain Binghe said no such thing, but it was nice of him to remember Shang Qinghua’s major whilst cursing him. Gongyi Xiao is still smiling sweetly at him, so Shang Qinghua takes a sip of the cider just to do something with his mouth that isn’t speaking. It’s a million times better than the beer. Who the hell brings organic cider to a frat party??

“So, rugby!” he starts, and immediately remembers he knows nothing about sports.  By choice. “You ummm must be very fit then!”

Gongyi Xiao chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away. Holy shit is he blushing? No one has ever blushed at Shang Qinghua. Ever. “I suppose so? I have to work hard to keep up with Binghe, and I enjoy the exercise. Do you play?”

Shang Qinghua narrowly avoids choking on an ill-timed sip of his drink. He has half a mind to gesture at himself and demand “Do I LOOK like I play sports?!”

“Nope,” he replies with a weak smile. “Ah, I don’t think I’d be very good.”

“Well you’ll never know if you haven’t tried,” Gongyi Xiao tells him with a laugh that sounds genuine. Shang Qinghua squints at him, and Gongyi Xiao’s eyelashes flicker. “Perhaps I could show you a few moves sometime?”

There’s something in the way he says it, leaning on the word ‘moves’, voice lowered like it’s only for Shang Qinghua to hear. Shang Qinghua writes bad porn in his spare time, he knows what pick up lines sound like. He’s just not used to hearing them directed at him. It takes a few moments for him to process.

In that time, Gongyi Xiao produces a pen from god knows where and gently takes the cider bottle from Shang Qinghua’s slack grip. Their fingers brush as he does. Gongyi Xiao scribbles something on the fancy label the bottle wears - seriously, is that watercolour paper?? - and hands the bottle back.

“Give me a call. If you want, that is!” he says, somewhat shyly. He turns a dazzlingly dimpled smile on Shang Qinghua and then just!! Leaves!!! Like he hadn’t just somehow pulled rom-com level flirting smoothness with possibly the worst conversationalist this side of the Atlantic!!

Shang Qinghua blinks at where Gongyi Xiao had been standing, turning very slowly to look at the phone number scrawled on the bottle. He even signed it with a ‘x’, like an asshole. A smooth, genuinely sweet asshole. Shang Qinghua takes a photo of the number with his phone before downing the entire bottle. He licks his thumb and smudges the phone number out - personal information and all that. It makes the whole exchange feel like a dangerous secret, which is more drama than Shang Qinghua ever wants, so he ditches the bottle on a random bookshelf. He can still see the ink staining his thumb, sitting there like a scandal waiting to be discovered.

“Mobei Jun just arrived.” Shen Yuan announces his presence with a sharp jab between Shang Qinghua’s ribs that makes him jump, nearly knocking over the entire bookcase.

Shang Qinghua peers at him. Luo Binghe is hovering over his shoulder, glaring at anyone who dares to hover too close to Shen Yuan whilst simultaneously attempting to wind his arms around Shen Yuan’s waist. He gets a sharp smack across the knuckles every time his fingers come a little too close to clawing their way beneath Shen Yuan’s shirt. 

“Uh, okay?” Shang Qinghua splutters. “So?”

“So he’s looking for you,” Shen Yuan snips, folding his arms. “If you want to hide, better do it now.”

“Shen-gege,” Luo Binghe whines, mouth way too close to Shen Yuan’s ear. “I want to hide, too! Won’t you come hide with me? Somewhere upstairs, maybe?”

Shen Yuan goes an interesting colour, rapping Luo Binghe’s knuckles harshly where they’ve managed to wiggle into his waistband. “Shameless! Binghe, you—!”

“I’m leaving,” Shang Qinghua says, and doesn’t wait for Shen Yuan’s response. Whatever happens next is something he’d like to be far, far away from. 

There’s also an increasingly likely chance he’s going to throw up. Downing the cider had been a mistake, especially when he’d arrived already feeling ill. Shang Qinghua stumbles halfway through the cramped hallway before he has to give up and lean against a wall, vision swimming. When he looks up, his eyes lock with a pair of piercing blue ones. 

Mobei Jun stands in the doorway of the kitchen, strangling the bottleneck of two beers in his hands. He starts towards Shang Qinghua immediately, eyes unblinking like a predator. Shang Qinghua can only skitter back a few steps, before he’s pinned against the wall. Mobei Jun doesn’t even use his hands, occupied as they are. It’s just the sheer breadth of his body, powerful and so very close, that has Shang Qinghua flattening himself against the ugly wallpaper.

“Qinghua,” he growls, and he sounds angry. Is he angry?? It’s impossible to tell. Shang Qinghua’s head is spinning a bit. The alcohol feels like it’s hitting him all at once. 

“I—!” Shang Qinghua’s plea for his life is interrupted by Mobei Jun mashing one of the beers against his face. It’s glass — is everyone at this party loaded?? — but the coolness is welcome against his fever-hot cheek.

Mobei Jun abruptly lets the bottle go and Shang Qinghua scrambles to catch it. “O-oh… For me?”

“Mn.” Mobei Jun does not move back an inch. He keeps glaring, eyes flicking between Shang Qinghua and the bottle he’s clutching.

Shang Qinghua gulps; the thought of drinking another drop of alcohol has his stomach rolling, but the alternative appears to be death if he refuses. He’s hit with a wave of déjà vu. Didn’t he already do this once today?? How many more things will Mobei Jun force him to consume?! This weird hazing is obviously a torture method! Shang Qinghua can only take so much, Mobei!!!

But then Mobei Jun is stepping sideways, leaning his back against the wall next to Shang Qinghua. 

“A-ah?” Shang Qinghua blinks at him. Mobei Jun pauses at his dumbfounded face for a second and then clinks the neck of his beer against the one in Shang Qinghua’s hand. A little too hard it seems, by the way it makes Shang Qinghua’s entire frame shake. 

“Drink.”

Shang Qinghua drinks as told, managing the smallest sip he thinks he can get away with. It still makes his stomach churn like a cement mixer. He thinks Mobei Jun is going to start interrogating him, or glaring at him, or threatening him with the overall mass of his stature, but he just stands there silently, taking an occasional swig of his drink and glowering at anyone who brushes too close to them.

After five straight minutes, Shang Qinghua can’t take anymore.

“Soooo-” He regrets opening his mouth immediately when Mobei Jun’s sharp gaze locks onto him. “How’s rugby going?”

Mobei Jun grunts. “Luo Binghe keeps skipping practice.”

“I thought his classes were scheduled around it?” Privileges of being the star player, Shang Qinghua thinks sourly. “When is practice?”
“Your classes,” Mobei Jun ignores him. “Tell me when they are.”

“Uhhhmm…” Fuck. Shang Qinghua doesn’t really want to put being terrorised by his crush in a scheduled time slot, but Mobei Jun has shunted himself closer and it looks like he’s decided to use physical intimidation after all. “Most of them are 1 ‘til 6pm. I have Wednesdays off. How about you?”

Mobei Jun just stares at him, holding Shang Qinghua’s gaze as he takes a long, slow sip of his beer. His throat bobs as he swallows, and Shang Qinghua’s eyes trace the action, making him feel kind of dizzy. “Perhaps I will skip practice.”

For what?! Shang Qinghua wants to shriek, but Mobei Jun chooses that moment to lean closer, eyes narrowed dangerously.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“What?” Shang Qinghua is trying to lean away from that terrifying scowl, but it just makes him feel off kilter and weird. His mouth tastes like metal for some reason. “Nothing’s wrong with me!”

“You’re pale.”

“Well I don’t go outside much…”

“Are you unwell?” Mobei Jun punctuates this question by pressing the back of his hand to Shang Qinghua’s sweaty forehead. It’s remarkably cool in comparison.

“No I’m--” Shang Qinghua sways suddenly, feeling like the room is spinning much more than it was two seconds ago. He didn’t drink that much, did he? His beer bottle slips out of his hand, spilling unceremoniously across the hallway carpet. Mobei Jun looks furious until Shang Qinghua grabs both of his arms to steady himself. 

Shang Qinghua looks up at the man towering above him, and god. Mobei Jun really is beautiful, isn’t he? Shang Qinghua would cradle that face in his hands but Mobei Jun’s jawline might cut him, it’s so sharp. 

“Mobei, I’m--” Something crosses Mobei Jun’s face. “I’m gonna be sick.”

“What?”

Shang Qinghua doesn’t answer because at that moment he turns his head to the side and promptly throws up all over Mobei Jun’s shoes.