Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“There is no way in hell I am leaving my house for freshers, I made that mistake last year, never again,” Woozi calls out from the shared kitchen.

“OUR house you idiot, that means joint decision. And majority says yes, so we shall conquer our quest for free tote bags and pens!” Hoshi giggles, throwing his arms around his younger.

Woozi shrugs him off, plodding to Wonwoo and Jun, who were very much half asleep on the sofa at the ripe hour of 11am. It was the second week of September, which meant absolutely nothing to them. But for the newly appointed uni students — and, for some reason, Hoshi — it marked the dreaded chaos of none other than Freshers’ Week. As second year students, they had been there, done that, and their livers and bank accounts definitely paid the price. So when Wonwoo was woken by the excited shrills of Hoshi on their last free week before the first term, he was more than pissed.

“Hoshi you absolute ass, have you seen the time? Why can I hear your voice in my dream?” Wonwoo opened his eyes to see two very chubby hamster cheeks welcoming him.

“Ah Wonwoo man please knock some sense into this boy, he wants to waste our precious Monday chatting up the poor head of the Wine and Cheese society pretending we give a shit, so he can get his free light up pen.” Woozi complains, falling into his lap.

Wonwoo sighs, his eyes falling on the eldest of the group, who was snoring whilst choking on his own drool, and wondered why he decided to live with such idiots. Not that he had much choice emotionally or financially. See this foursome was formed very ripe into the first year of university. There was Wonwoo - an English Lit student who chose the degree because he wrote one banging fanfic in year 10, Woozi - a music and sound production student who was a producer’s wet dream, Jun - a film and media student who was a fucking Chinese prodigy in any and everything, and Hoshi - a performing arts student with severe ADHD. I know, what a group.

Surprisingly out of the group, Wonwoo had known Hoshi since they were in the same nursery and had seen every questionable and awkward era of their lives. And now they were here, at the age of 19, living in the same house. Jun and Woozi were the more quiet ones of the group, not when they were drunk though god forbid. Since the end of first year, Jun had been dating the one other Chinese prodigy and fine art student, Minghao, and their relationship was going strong. They were both elite dancers, musicians and martial artists. If there was a way to create beautiful art, they could do it.

And that’s where Jun was introduced to Woozi. Woozi was musically inclined in every incline possible. He played every single instrument known to man and heard sounds that didn’t even exist. His talent was very quickly recognised and so he became very popular amongst both professors and students, including Jun. For Jun’s first year project, he tasked himself with the topic of experimental film and minimalistic music. Actually that’s a lie - he tasked HIMSELF with an essay on the impact of the Shrek 2 soundtrack but Wonwoo safely pulled him out of that one. So he and Woozi teamed up to create an experimental piece that explored negative space and silent noise. Safe to say after the result of the project, Jun owed him his life.

Speaking of artistic talent, Hoshi happened to also be an elite dancer, despite only being interested in dance after watching Step Up 2 ( goated movie). He worked hard, juggling his part time job alongside dance classes, finally reaching an elite level where he danced alongside Jun and Minghao. It was fascinating to Wonwoo, being friends and sharing a home with such talented people.

He, compared to his pals, had nothing to show for, except for being a banging chess player, even giving Jun a run for his money. And Jun was good.

Oh and Hoshi had a raging crush on Woozi, but we get onto that later.

And like the power rangers, they banded together to form the famous four, who shared one roof and the most amazing lore. And here they are, arguing whether they infiltrate the freshers fair for the second time in their lives.

Wonwoo swings his legs off the sofa after shoving Woozi off his lap. “Hoshi, I love you, but please try to use at least one of your very limited brain cells. We ALL have at least 3 days of reading we need to do, alongside buying our textbooks, finding our rooms, our professors, our hope, our souls and you get the gist. All in favour of staying HOME, raise your hand.”

Three hands shoot up, including Jun who has now started to fathom the situation.

“Hoshi baby I promise you I will buy you all the pens in the world, let’s just let the freshers… have their freshers?” Jun pleads, clutching onto Hoshi’s hand.

Hoshi had to admit, him, and the others, had a soft spot for their leader Jun. Woozi clutches his free hand, his eyes bright with hope. Hoshi’s eyebrows raise at their interlocked hands and both Wonwoo and Jun give the knowing eyes. They definitely got him now.

“UGHHHHHHHH, OKAY FINE,” Hoshi groans, falling onto the sofa in defeat. “ Ugh I was looking forward to seeing who was going to sign up for elite dance. I heard Lee Chan was starting. You know him, right Jun?”

“Oh shit, as in Team Korea Lee Chan?”

Wonwoo and Woozi scrolled on their phones uninterested. At least they had that in common; they equally gave zero shits when it came to physical activity.

“ Yeah man he’s sick, he even skipped a year cause he got a scholarship here. He better not try to take my place though. I know taekwondo,” Hoshi threatened, chopping the air. He then broke down into a martial art showcase; Jun returned back to his sleep and Wonwoo opened Insta, snuggling into Woozi’s side.

He pulled his phone closer to himself; his heart beating a little too fast, and his cheeks heating up slightly. He zoomed in, staring at the exquisite art on his screen. Woozi peered his head over, curious.

“ ..Wonwoo..seriously?” Wonwoo snatched his phone to his chest, embarrassment pooling over him. Woozi chuckled, shaking his head. “ It’s okay man, at least I know I can use Kim MIngyu as leverage when I need it,”

Wonwoo smacked his hand over his mouth, deciding whether to accidentally cover his nose as well and take him out whilst he could. Hoshi jumped over, his attention now towards Wonwoo and his blushing cheeks, trying to glance at his phone.

“OOHH WONWOO! Cheeky boy, I didn’t know you like them younger” He winked at Wonwoo who was on the verge of either throwing up or homicide. Maybe both. “For your information, he’s like 5 months younger, you creeps. Secondly, you will not say anything to him or any other human. Especially you, Hoshi.” He raises his eyebrows and tilts his head slightly towards Woozi with a smirk. Ha bitch.

Wonwoo may be quiet but he had the persona of an Italian mob boss, he knew everyone and every secret and he was not afraid to use it. Hoshi’s smirk dropped and he bowed down quickly; “My bad king,” before evacuating quickly.

Woozi chuckled, nudging Wonwoo’s side. “ You know I won’t say anything Wonwoo, I couldn’t care less about people’s love lives. But you two are friends, I say you should try one day.”

Judging by Wonwoo’s expression, Woozi knew that was a big fat no no.

“ Okay maybe not, but if you want me to wingman, I got you. Remember I got everyone wrapped around my finger, just say the word.”

Which was true and Wonwoo was grateful but this was one mistake he couldn’t risk making. Mingyu, the university’s unofficial ‘Hot Guy’. Everyone and their mothers knew of Mingyu or wanted to know him. An architecture student now in second year, who had the conversation skills of a speaker at a TED talk. He was just that guy; captain of the football team, amazing at art, knew 3 languages, model, amazing cook, alcohol tolerance of a veteran alcoholic and the most amazing skin Wonwoo had ever seen. And Wonwoo was absolutely, shamefully obsessed with him.

Luckily, he had become acquaintances with him though Jun, who’s boyfriend, Minghao, was besties and housemates with. They spoke occasionally, at a party or when he was around at their house, coerced by Jun. Jun was well aware of his obsession with Mingyu, even before he knew it himself, the eyes never lie chico.

However for Wonwoo, being able to speak to him was enough. He had an amazing personality, though they never spoke much and didn’t have a lot in common, he had to admit he was really fun to be around and weirdly wasn’t a pretentious dickhead at all. If anything, he was very sweet and welcoming and always greeted him no matter who he was with. Enough of talking about him, we’ll get to him in the next chapter.

Wonwoo smiled at Woozi, turning his phone off. Only one week before they were back in uni and he was already panicking about seeing people in person. He was grateful he was no longer going to be one of the new kids, who had no friends and no clue how anything worked, which eased his brain, but there was always an anxiety about starting the new year. He knew if everything went to shit, he had his trusty power rangers ready to catch his fall.

He pulled out his phone and went to their group chat.

Going Rangers

Black Ranger: guys, his eyes are actually closed this time, do you think he's finally dead..

Red Ranger: Damn RIP frrr :(((

Green Ranger: Man fuck yall

Chapter Text

“Good morning my loveeee…I kind of need like £200…” 

Scoups peeked his head from under the covers, his beautiful blonde boyfriend grinning back at him, somehow with the most evil intention. 

“ Good morning to you too I guess. I’m sorry, did you say £200 my love?” No matter how absurd the situation, they couldn’t forget to use their pet names with each other.

Jeonghan pulled back the covers, exposing his sugar daddy (boyfriend’s) firm chest. He never got tired of seeing it, touching it. He ran his hand up and down his abs, tracing each line, easing himself deeper and deeper into manipulating Scoups’ rose tinted brain. Scoups sighed a breath of air, almost forgetting the insane question he was asked, his hand stroking the top of Jeonghan’s fingers and the other stroking along his thighs.

Everyone at uni knew of Jeonghan and Scoups; or his real name Seungcheol, but don’t call him that or he’ll sulk. Ever since his teachers at sixth form used to call him ‘Singcheol’, he decided to use his nickname ‘Scoups’, which then got beautifully modified to ‘scoops’, ‘stethoscope’ and even ‘soup’? 

They had met in the first week of first year uni, Scoups being elected the captain of the football team and Jeonghan the vice captain. Both shared no other interest, one studying Political Science and the other Psychology, ( you can guess who’s who) apart from football.

Very quickly, their passion and vigour on the pitch soon turned into something sexual and they had been dating ever since, moving into their first apartment together in second year. 

It was now their third year in uni and they seemed happy as ever; and they were. They knew what each other needed without much conversation, got on with their own things and trusted each other wholeheartedly. Scoups didn’t have to worry about him cheating, he was a black belt in taekwondo, an absolute beast in the gym, rich as fuck and not too bad looking, and Jeonghan was a Psychology student. Enough said.

Jeonghan lay his head on Scoups’ chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart and feeling every rise and fall of his chest. He wasn’t very vocal with his love, but to him, Scoups was his home, his safety. They shared a small flat, with very minimal space and shitty facilities and loud neighbours, but they had each other and that made everything bearable.

“I’ve been coerced into buying these textbooks and guides for Psych, apparently it's ‘essential’ that I acquire them for my dissertation. I think it’s bullshit but I know Prof Jake is gonna lose his shit if I start the year with a pen and a dream for the 3rd time in a row.” Jeonghan whispers, his voice steady and low, curious how his boyfriend was going to respond. He hated having to rely on him for everything, food, money, car rides, but unfortunately his parents were raging alcoholics who wouldn’t spare a penny for their son. So he found solace and financial protection in his stethoscope (sorry). 

Scoups sighed even louder, looking down at his angel. He was well aware and involved in Jeonghan’s family life and no matter how shitty his situation was, there was nothing he could do but be there for him. He didn’t mind, he was blessed to have good parents who could provide for him emotionally and financially and if he had the needs, why not support the one he loves. In simpler words, he would give Jeonghan his last jaffa cake, even if he had just made a banging cup of tea. And that’s a hard choice.

“Of course angel, we can go get them tomorrow together, I also have some stuff I got to buy for next week. Damn how time flies.” It was scary to them, just the other day, they were fresh uni students, seeing the building for the first time, meeting their professors, and now they were in their final year with one big dissertation between them and graduating. Which meant cutting down on the nights out, the football and the sex.

Jeonghan looks up beaming, “Thank you my love, you know I hate asking, but I promise I’ll pay you back in the best way possible.” He winks at Scoups who shoves him off before he lures him to bed for a VERY good few hours, but he had work soon and he did not want to be limping whilst serving coffee.

“It’s okay my love let’s save the payment for this evening, I’ve got work very soon. Why don’t you text Mingyu and DK and see if they’re down for footie? I’m sure they’re both free; it'll be something to do so you’re not bored whilst I’m out.” Scoups suggests to his boyfriend who seemed pretty stoked about the idea. 

Scoups, in his prime days as football captain, got to meet Mingyu and DK whilst playing for the uni football team and he and Jeonghan became close with them both. They were both a year below, but played very well he had to admit and they often met up on the weekend for Sunday football or just for a kickabout. That was before Scoups tore his ACL into pieces. 

Thankfully, they remained friends outside of football and he discovered their livers somehow matched up to his own which was also a plus. 

Jeonghan pulled out their gc on his phone.

Goal Diggers

Hannie: Good morning my children, is anyone up for footie today?

We can go goals or powerleague, and hop on a 5 a side

please im bored my man is leaving me to die alone.

Respond or ill find you.

Gyu: why are u awake its like 11am.

Jesus

Im down acc yes

Let me wake up dk 

Hannie: yayyy

Wake him now

I need to know

Gyu: he said fuck me and you

And he said yes if he can get himself up

So thats yes and yes

Lets go power league

Its closer to us :))

Hannie: ha dickhead

Okay sure

Scoups: have fun 

Gyu: enjoy work dad

Can you bring us food after

Plssss

Scoups: maybe - if u win

Gyu: deal

Scoups grins reading the chat on his phone. Never would he think he’d be the father of his own children but here he was. He reminds himself to bring back the leftover pastries to Mingyu's flat. As second year students, they were probably surviving on cereal and toothpaste for sustenance.

He washes his face in the sink, before brushing his teeth and combing back his hair. He could hear Jeonghan humming in the kitchen, probably fixing him breakfast and he smiles, his heart content. He tries not to think of what will happen next year, when they are both graduated and having to find real life jobs and live in the real world. For now he is happy where he is, with his shitty cafe job and his angel by his side.

Chapter Text

Mingyu groaned, stretching his sore body out to the best of his ability on his very small bed. Unfortunately, a single bed was not big enough for this giant so he spent a lot of his nights not really ON his bed. He closes the group chat after confirming their meet time and opens up his social media. 

Not to brag but Mingyu was definitely quite popular online and it wasn’t due to his talent or exciting activities or beautiful landscapes. It was more so his lethal face card and body. And he wasn’t ashamed to show it, don't get him wrong, he loved the attention and buzz he would get when he posted a photo of himself. When the lighting hit right and he had that slight sultry gaze; he knew he looked sexy. 

It did piss him off though when he would post a beautiful sunset or a cute photo of a stray kitten on holiday and the only comment would be:

@dk_yeom : sick sky

He loved photography and expression, especially as an architecture student but it was difficult to express his interests to others, either at parties or dates; they were only attentive hoping they would get a chance to pounce on him after.

He thinks back to a conversation he had with Minghao’s boyfriend’s friend, Wonwoo, who he was introduced to mutually. They had shared their degrees as a first year student does, and he seemed genuinely interested in his passions. They spoke about photography and art. Wonwoo admitted he didn’t have much interest in art or english to be honest, but he loved being able to express creatively in ways that didn’t have to be obvious; that could be inferred and interpreted unique to each person.

It was refreshing to Mingyu to have a conversation with someone who wasn’t looking for something physical out of it; he was grateful.

He sighed, chucking his phone aside, hurrying to the single bathroom the three of them shared, knowing if he was a minute late, DK would stink up the entire house and they’d have to evacuate through the nearest window.

“MINGYUUU I'm busting man I swear, you know I can’t hold it, you should have let me go firsttt,” DK bangs on the door, hard enough to break the damn thing.

“Hell no man your shit stinks up the place, I’d have to hold it till tomorrow if I wanted to go,” Mingyu continues his skincare in peace, listening to the pleads and cries behind the door. 

DK huffs and with one final bang on the door, gives up and goes to bother Minghao, who was peacefully painting in his room. Minghao was a second year fine art student, which came as a surprise to them both, as he also happened to be the best fucking dancer they’d ever seen. From bboying to contemporary to ballet to hip hop, he could do it all. But he claimed dance to him was an expression, not something to study and analyse and perfect. It was an art form and it was performed the way he wanted not any professor or teacher. Fair enough.  

“The to the 8, what you doingg,” DK sang whilst entering him room. Another thing to note about DK. He had vocals on him. And that meant he would not shut the fuck up if you paid him. At times, it was great. He was a musical theatre student so he was confident, expressive and hilarious, which also meant everything was a drama to him. Mingyu found it hilarious; Minghao however, very much did not. 

He turned, stone faced, to DK.

“Sky diving DK what does it look like I'm doing?” He kissed his teeth and continued with his painting. Minghao or The8, was a very interesting individual. He presented himself as a spiritual, meditative guy, very in tune with earth and himself and all that but in reality he was a crackhead like anyone else. He was just amazing at hiding it. Well to be honest, his boyfriend Jun really brought it out of him when they started dating. They both had very quiet, peaceful personas but brought the absolute batshit craziness out of each other. Mingyu and DK loved it. 

The three of them were inseparable from the first year. DK and Mingyu played for the uni football team together, discovering their shared love for alcohol and karaoke during the Wednesday socials. You may wonder how they even came to know of Minghao, they had nothing in common right? Wrong. The three of them shared two things in common. Their love for drinking, and their shared passion for gardening. 

It started as a joke, Mingyu and DK started to collect all of their fruit seeds as a competition to see who could eat the most fruit, until they discovered their university garden was an absolute shithole and in dire need of some life. So they decided to clean it up a bit and plant their own fruit. Unlimited fruit hack, bosh. Of course it took a lot of work and maintenance. So every free break they had, they would head to the garden and remove weeds, or water the tree, or trim the hedges. It kept them busy and gave them some sort of fulfilment. Shortly after, Minghao, who used to walk around the garden as a meditative space, spotted them one day and it made him almost choke with laughter.

The two gym bro football jocks were in front of him, discussing the intricate process of pruning. So Minghao out of pity and humor decided to help them out as he himself grew many plants back home. Soon after they became the best of friends and vowed to keep their gardening meet ups a state secret.

At least it’s not drugs hey!....

Well.. I didn’t exactly lie when I said their passion was gardening. It also included the other type of plant, the one where they would gather in the greenhouse and ‘rotate their crops’ and ‘deepen their horticultural practice’. So their garden meetups always ended in a success and they would return back to their individual lessons, a LOT happier.

“Yo DK, smoke before or after footie? I kind of want to win this one so we can get free baked goods from scoops. And I don’t mean those baked goods,” he rolls his eyes at DK’s smirk.

“Sure man, that good with you the8? To be honest he might need it if he wants to expand his artistic mind.” Minghao turns to the others, his eyes streaky and nods. The others burst out laughing at their already gone friend.

“Not even surprised, you have fun man, we’ll roll up when we’re back,” Mingyu pats his friend’s back before closing the door to leave him to express his very sober thoughts.

DK trudges behind him, before sitting at the kitchen counter.

“ So what’s for breakfast Chef Kim.”

Mingyu was used to it, being the resident household chef. He loved it though, he loved cooking and the fact the boys trusted him to feed them with satisfactory meals made him smile.

“I'm thinking protein overload, scrambled eggs, grilled chicken, spinach, and a protein smoothie to go with? I might hit the gym beforehand,” Mingyu starts off, heating a pan up already. He was in the zone.

“Sounds good man, I’ll tap out of the gym bit but the rest sounds lovely.” Mingyu sighs at DK. 

“Asshole, don’t leave me,” Mingyu cracks his eggs in the pan before heating up another pan for chicken.

“Sorry man, I was gonna meet up with Josh before footie just to catch up. Tomorrow though, I’m there.”

Mingyu raises his eyebrows at DK and smirks. He knew very well what catch up meant but he didn’t tease. DK was a sensitive soul and liked to throw tantrums over anything so he did what he could to not push him. Joshua was a good guy, in the year above, studying Theology and Ethics. He was kind, smart and caring, so Mingyu trusted him not to hurt DK. Not that their relationship or whatever circumstance was his business but he felt really protective over his friends; he appreciated the same for him. 

He didn’t know Joshua very well, he knew he was close with Scoups but they only met mutually, smoked a few times together, but DK and him seemed to get on a lot better. 

“That’s all good man, just make sure you’re not late to footie. I’ll meet Hannie before and text you. Eat first though.” DK smiled in appreciation.

“Cool man, thanks. By the way, there’s a freshers party this Friday at ministry, you down? I think Josh and Hoshi’s group are going and we can ask Scoups and Hannie.”

Ah the good old days of fresher’s week. Thank god they were done and over that, but they had to admit Fresher club nights were hard to say no to.

Mingyu plated his and DK’s breakfast and sat next to him at the counter.

“If those lot are down, then sure. Who doesn’t want to get freshers flu the first week into their second year of uni, hey?” 

“Ha, it’s okay wuss, you’ll recover. Plus maybe you can actually get laid before we go back, so win win” DK grinned, shoving a mouthful of egg before Mingyu could throttle him.

Dickhead, Mingyu thought. He knew he had been celibate for a bit too long now which worried the group, but he had decided this year he was going to embrace his inner virgin Mary, and marry before sex.

Obviously not happening, but he wanted to at least try.

“Yo Minghao! Ministry this Friday?” he shouted from the kitchen, hoping The8 was somewhat in the right head space to think thoughts.

“YEP I’M THERE. I CAN SEE A NEW COLOUR SO I'M GOING TO HAVE TO TALK TO YOU LOT LATER SO IT DOESN’T DISAPPEAR!” 

Mingyu and DK look at each other, just as confused but don’t question the magical powers of their supply. 

“Alright man, I’m gonna dip but text me when you’re at the pitch,” DK says as he gets up to wash his plate and grab his boots. Mingyu follows with his plate to send his child off safely.

“Alright man, see you there, don’t exert yourself too much.” He waggles his eyebrows at the other, before successfully dodging a glorious back kick to the thigh.

“Fuck you bitch. Love you, see you later.” DK calls from out the door, a spring in his step. 

“Love you man,” Mingyu laughs, after closing the door and returning to the kitchen to wash their dishes. He loved how domestic they had become; cooking each other meals, eating together, cuddling on the sofa during movie nights, seeing each other off at the door, and gardening together (in both ways). They weren’t the type to find affection cringe or feminine. They were brothers for life and would kiss the homies goodnight if they asked.

Mingyu plates up some breakfast for Minghao, for when he was no longer seeing new colours, and packs his gym bag. It was a Monday morning, so not many of his friends wanted to be at the gym at this time, which was fair enough. Mingyu preferred to go alone, being able to push himself without distractions. He downed his preworkout, gagging before popping a gum to drown out the taste. 

He double checked he had everything and stepped out, ready to absolutely annihilate his body in the name of sport.

Chapter Text

“And if you head up, just turn right down the first set of halls and through the first door, is your room. Make sure you keep your fob on you at all times,” the oddly energetic admission officer explained to the new first years.

Vernon sighed, pushing his headphones back onto his ear. He had just endured a sickening flight from New York and was now forced into the pit of hell that was a cubicle of a room in the most dingy flat there was to offer. He smiled at the woman, and grabbed his fob, along with the checklist and his suitcase. 

Fortunately for him, he was the last of the block to arrive which meant introducing himself to every living soul in that building.

‘Hey man, I’m Vernon. Yeah I’m American, hence the accent. No, I didn’t vote for Trump. What are you studying? Omg no way, I’m doing RS and Theology. Yeah cool I know. Okay anyways, nice talking to you.’

He practiced his conversations, ready to do this shit a good 30 times to every face he would meet. Vernon could not give a toss about making friends or acquaintances (unless they had that good crop if you know what I mean).

He purposefully chose a quiet course with minimal people in a small town so he could somewhat blend into the walls. He was a smart guy, with a passion for learning and questioning; he liked to break everything down into the nitty gritty and really delve into why and how. Just not when he was sober. He reminded himself to search for a dealer asap before he lost it mentally. 

He climbed the two sets of stairs, tapping in almost 4 doors in a row, wondering why such security was needed for student accommodation. He was on the third floor, door 2, and was told he would be sharing a kitchen with at least three others. He finally reached his door, and was quick to enter so he didn’t bump into any of his neighbours on his way in. 

He put his suitcase to the side and jumped on his bed in relief.

It wasn’t too bad, he had to admit, he had a small desk in the corner, a good sized wardrobe, an ensuite bathroom and enough space to walk.

He pulled open his phone to text his American bestie who also happened to go to the same university but was in his third year. They had gone middle school and high school together; their mothers grew close as they were both single and shared Korean heritage. When Joshua decided to travel to the UK for uni, Vernon was distraught but only in secret, he couldn’t admit he actually cared for his friend. But he vowed he’d follow behind in the next two years and here he was.

Josh

Vernon: Yo man just got into this shithole, when can I see you?

Need to blaze asap 

Also got to avoid my flatmates

Mission impossible 

Josh: Yooo

Dw man youll get used to it, get comfy

Im with a friend rn 

He can get you some if you need

Ill swing by in around an hour?

Go say hi, it wont hurt

You might even make some friends

Vernon: doubt that

Okay ill wait it out ig 

Cool im at block C 

See u then

Joshua: see ya

Vernon huffs, his mind racing on what to do. He was starving honestly, but he also didn’t want to risk bumping into his flatmates this early on. What if they were absolute weirdos, or racists or asked too many questions. After careful consideration, he decided to pop his head in, praying he had an empty kitchen for at least 5 minutes to make a perfect cup ramen and run back out.

Of course though, fate works in wonderful ways. 

The moment he popped his head in, two smiling faces looked up at him from the kitchen table—as if they’d been waiting just for him. And the strangest part? They were both Korean.

“Oh, hey. I’m Vernon,” he stammered, heat rising in his cheeks. Great. Perfect. Just what he needed—socializing while stone-cold sober.

“Hey, Vernon!” The blond boy blurted, words tumbling out too fast. “Sorry, we heard you were coming today so we decided to wait for you. Not in a creepy way. Even though, okay, it does sound creepy—but I promise we’re not.” He glanced helplessly at his friend.

The younger-looking boy just smiled, saying nothing.

“I’m Lee Chan, but you can call me Dino. This is Seungkwan—I think. I don’t know him, we just met.” Dino thrust out a hand. Vernon shook it quickly before retreating, already regretting everything.

The silence stretched. Three boys, three pairs of eyes darting around, waiting for someone to break it.

“So—” Seungkwan finally said. “I didn’t know they were grouping us based on ethnicity?” He laughed lightly.

Dino chuckled, and Vernon felt his shoulders loosen a little.

“Yeah, it’s odd. I never thought I’d see so many Koreans in one room.” He sat down, trying to sound casual.

“You’ve got an accent. American?” Dino asked, his own accent noticeable.

“Yeah, New York. Born and raised. My mum’s Korean, my dad’s American.”

“Ah. I’m from Iksan,” Dino explained. “I came here on a scholarship. I’m a dancer.”

“Hence the accent,” Seungkwan chimed in. “He skipped a year—he’s only seventeen. Which is insane. But he’s ridiculously talented.”

“Like proper insane,” Seungkwan added, his tone shifting into admiration. “He was on the Korean dance team at the Olympics. I watched it on TV.”

Vernon’s eyebrows shot up. He glanced at Dino, who blushed and ducked his head. The innocence in his boyish features was impossible to miss.

“Man, that’s sick. I wish I was that talented.”

Dino’s shy smile widened despite himself. Seungkwan nudged him with an elbow before turning back to Vernon.

“So, what are you studying?”

“Oh—RS and Theology.”

Both blinked in surprise, exchanging looks.

“Wow,” Seungkwan admitted. “Didn’t expect that. I pegged you for music or film or… I don’t know, something else.”

Vernon laughed, not surprised. His leather jacket and ever-present headphones fooled most people.

“Trust me, that’s just the New York in me. It’s all a facade.”

Seungkwan tilted his head, gaze locking on Vernon’s. His voice dropped, lower and quieter. “Interesting. I like it. Makes me want to know the real you. What’s inside.”

The words hit harder than Vernon expected. For a moment, he froze, caught in the pull of Seungkwan’s warm brown eyes. Something fluttered in his stomach, something he couldn’t laugh off.

He looked away anyway, forcing out a chuckle. “Maybe another day. I’m a bit jet-lagged, so I’m gonna head to sleep. It was nice talking to you guys—I’ll catch you later?” He pushed back his chair a little too quickly.

“Sure, man. It was nice meeting you,” Dino said brightly. “Just knock if you need anything. I’m in door 1, Seungkwan’s door 4.” He gave a cheerful wave.

Seungkwan didn’t say anything—just smiled faintly, lifting his hand in a small wave.

Vernon managed a quick smile back before slipping out, hoping no one noticed the heat creeping up his ears.

Chapter Text

“DK, slow down just a little please,” Joshua pleads, the back of his head pressing against the headboard; DK’s soft lips sucking a red bloom on his neck.

He pressed open mouthed kisses against his jaw, his throat, his collarbone, anywhere he could reach with his lips, whilst his hand remained pressed against Joshua's crotch.

He loved this feeling. Being able to break him down, strip him back from his quiet, reserved church boy persona until he was a mess under him. He loved being in control against the elder, it gave him a rush of power, and only made him more horny.

He snaked his hand in Joshua’s boxers, running his fingers against the veins of his dick, growing harder in his hands. Joshua moaned louder, trying to make a hole through the headboard with his skull. His feet dug deeper into the mattress, his heart beating so fast in his chest, he thought he would explode right there, trapped under his lover.

To be honest, he didn’t know if they were classed as lovers. Their secret meetups started last year when Joshua was academically stressed and falling deeper into depression and looked into finding a coping mechanism, which happened to be either drinking or smoking.

He had come to the UK from the US, alone and lost to study religion and theology, which at the time was all he was interested in. However, seminar after seminar and exam after the next, doubt crept in, subtle at first — a question here, a hesitation there.

Then all at once, it unraveled. The prayers felt hollow. The rituals, mechanical. He started smoking on his balcony late at night, first out of boredom, then just to feel something. Weed dulled the noise in his head — the guilt, the confusion, the fear that maybe faith wasn’t enough to hold him together.

He bought his first bag from DK then, being referred to by a mutual friend.

He was nervous at first, he had no clue what he was doing and how to do it, but DK helped him roll his first joint, smoke it and deal with the high. The whole night, he stayed by his side, providing a comfort and safety Joshua hadn’t felt in a very long time.

Joshua then used any excuse to get close to DK, texting almost three times a week, having small conversation, smoking joints together occasionally outside uni or by Joshua’s flat.

And Joshua—so used to restraint—slowly found himself leaning in. It didn’t take long. A brush of knees, eye contact longer than normal, their mix of saliva sharing a joint. The first time they hooked up, it had been quick, almost careless — like neither of them wanted to admit it meant anything.

But it didn’t stop. It became a habit. Joshua's sofa. Joshua’s bed. Joshua’s mouth shaping his name like a secret. And Joshua told himself, over and over, it’s just physical. But some nights, he still remembered the way DK looked at him — like he saw more — and it made something cold twist in his chest.

And here they were almost a year later, DK’s fingers curled inside Joshua’s heat.

Joshua loved that he could lay there and feel pleasured and cared for by DK; like all the weight was off his shoulders and he was just allowed to feel.

“Yes right there - fuck. Keep going please, don’t hold back,” Joshua moans out, his hand clutching onto DK’s forearm, massaging on the older’s prostate repeatedly.

He knew Joshua loved being pleasured to borderline pain. He knew he could take it.

He plants his free hand beside Joshua’s face and curls his fingers deeper and faster, watching every twitch of Joshua’s expression. He was beautiful, even more beautiful when he was submissive.

Joshua pulls DK down by the back of his neck, into a heated, messy kiss as he grew closer to his climax. He licked deeper into his mouth, tasting every part of his inside. He sucked on the younger’s tongue, drowning out DK’s own moans and after seconds of bliss, he groaned loud, his head falling back as he came all over his stomach and abdomen. His body shook from the sheer pleasure and overstimulation as he pulled DK’s fingers out of him slowly and interlocked their hands.

It was this moment he felt the most vulnerable, and DK knew it. He reached up to caress Joshua’s damp hair and kissed his temple, cheeks and lips. He whispered praise into his ear whilst hugging him tight, Joshua’s body still recovering from aftershock; twitching occasionally.

It secretly pleased DK knowing he was this good. 

“You okay love?” DK whispered, his arms still around Joshua’s waist.

His breath hitched slightly; he wasn't used to the pet names, and they weren’t that common either. They both agreed from the start that their ‘situation’ was purely a ‘situation’ and there was nothing romantic involved.

Joshua was a vowed Christian and if any of his church found out he was messing with a boy, he would be more than done for. He was curious as to DK’s reasoning, but the younger never seemed too upset about their arrangement so he chose not to press.

“Yeah, it’s just been a while honestly,” Joshua admits, a slight smile on his lips.

DK grins back, kissing his cheek again. 

“What, you telling me you didn’t get it with anyone during the summer?” DK asks. Joshua stills, not knowing how to respond. 

“Oh, me? Nooo,” he laughs. “Too busy man, there’s a lot to prepare for third year. What about you, bet you were booked and busy?” Joshua secretly hoped he hadn’t.

“Nah man, I had trials for the academy so had to keep my body in top notch condition. So no topping for me unfortunately.” Joshua chuckled, the relief quiet but real. 

They lay in silence for a while, side by side, their bare bodies covered by a single bed sheet.

“Sometimes I wonder,” Joshua murmured, his voice low enough that DK had to lean closer to catch it, “if this... whatever we have is just a way to forget the rest of it.”

DK’s smile faltered for a moment, his usual bravado slipping. “Maybe,” he said quietly. “Or maybe it’s just what it is. No need to complicate it.”

Joshua met his gaze, searching for the truth in those dark eyes. Maybe DK was right. Maybe this was as simple as two people who found something that worked, however temporary. Maybe it really didn’t mean anything for DK. Maybe Joshua was a stupid idiot who fell into something there was no way out of.

Chapter Text

That’s crazy, you know, you both coming from America to this shithole, to the same shithole university,” DK said, walking alongside Joshua. “You must have been hella close.”

Joshua kicked at the loose gravel on the pavement, hands shoved deep in his hoodie pocket.

 “Not at first, honestly. We went to the same schools, but it was more like… our mums were mates, so we got thrown together all the time. Forced playdates, you know?” He gave a small laugh. “Eventually we actually clicked, though. By the time I was thinking about uni, I just wanted out of the area. Think that hit him a bit harder. He didn’t really have loads of friends back then—he wasn’t the most social guy. Probably still the same.”

DK raised a brow. “And you reckon that’s why he came here too?”

Joshua shrugged. “Yeah, maybe. Guess he just followed the trail I left.”

They turned a corner, the monstrous block hard to miss.

“Christ,” DK muttered, eyeing the building. “Every hall looks the same. Like a prison, but with worse hygiene.”

“Yeah,” Joshua said, smirking. “Wait ‘til you smell the corridors. That’s a unique blend of Lynx Africa, burnt toast, and despair.”

They crossed the car park, Joshua pulling out his phone. He shot Vernon a quick text: ‘outside’.

“You nervous?” DK asked suddenly, grinning.

Joshua frowned. “Nervous about what?”

“Dunno. Meeting your childhood mate again. First time in ages, innit? What if he’s like, dead boring? What if he’s a Tory?”

Joshua barked a laugh. “He’s not a Tory. He’s American.”

“Exactly,” DK said, eyes wide. “Even worse. He could be the type to own a gun rack.”

Joshua shook his head, still laughing. “Trust me, he’s not like that. You’ll see.”

The doors swung open just then, and Vernon stepped out, shoulders hunched against the chill. He spotted them immediately, eyes flicking between Joshua and DK. For a second, he looked uncertain—like he wasn’t sure if he was about to walk into a reunion or an interrogation.

Joshua shoved his hands deeper in his pockets, a grin tugging at his mouth despite himself. “Vernon.”

Vernon’s lips broke into a small, crooked smile. “Josh.”

They hovered a moment, unsure if it was supposed to be a handshake or a hug, before Joshua went in first and pulled him into a half-hug, throwing in some awkward back-slaps. Vernon laughed under his breath, a little stiff but not pulling away.

When they let go, DK immediately stepped forward, offering his hand. “The name’s DK, no it doesn’t stand for donkey kong but I do have one if you’re wondering.” He winks at a very bemused Vernon.

Vernon blinked at him, then shook his hand. “Uh… hi. I’m Vernon.”

“American accent’s strong, bro,” DK said, grinning. “Sounds like you walked straight out of Netflix.”

Joshua rolled his eyes. “Ignore him, he’s always like this.”

Vernon chuckles lightly; it was subtle, but Joshua noticed—Vernon relaxing a bit, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders as the corners of his mouth kept twitching up.

“So,” Vernon said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Where to?”

Joshua lifted the small rucksack on his shoulder meaningfully. “Somewhere less CCTV-heavy. Then we’ll see where the night goes.”

“Translation,” DK said, lowering his voice dramatically, “he wants to go get high in a bush.”

Vernon snorted, shaking his head. “You’ve really changed man - I’m glad.”

Joshua turns to him, a shy grin on his face. “Glad enough to forgive me for ditching you back then?”

“Almost,” Vernon replies, grinning back.

They cut across the car park and out onto the quiet pavement, streetlights buzzing overhead. Joshua fell into step beside Vernon, while DK sauntered a step ahead, narrating half the walk like a tour guide.

“On your left,” he announced, sweeping an arm out dramatically, “the local corner shop, home of the bossman who doesn’t check ID’s and definitely has a laundering business. On your right, the chip shop which saves your life after a hangover.”

Vernon glanced sideways at Joshua, lips twitching. “Is he always like this?”

“Always,” Joshua confirmed.

“And you still hang out with him?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Oi, stop slandering me,” DK called back, grinning. “You’ll thank me when I’m the one who provides you with the best weed you will ever smoke .”

Joshua sighed, but Vernon was actually laughing now—soft, genuine, the sound of it pulling something warm and strange out of Joshua’s chest.

It was odd, being here with him again. Years had passed, whole oceans crossed, and yet it felt… familiar. Like the last eleven years hadn’t stretched between them at all.

They slipped around the back of the local library, the spot smelling like stale smoke, beer and some sort of dead animal.

“Romantic,” Vernon muttered, eyeing the overturned crate DK immediately plonked himself on.

Joshua smirked. “You get used to it. Half the population has probably sat here at some point.”

“Exactly,” DK said, patting the crate like it was a throne. “Historic landmark. Should get a blue plaque.”

Joshua crouched, pulling his grinder and bag out of DK’s rucksack. Vernon hovered awkwardly before lowering himself onto the curb, watching as Joshua broke the bud down with practised ease.

“You’re oddly good at that,” Vernon said, a little surprised.

“Experience,” Joshua said simply, licking the paper and sealing the joint smooth. He glanced up with a smirk. “Don’t tell my mum.”

Vernon snorted. “She still thinks you’ve never touched alcohol. If she knew —”

“She’d probably fly over and drag me back to the States,” Joshua finished for him, passing the joint across once it was lit.

Vernon took the joint without hesitation, bringing it to his lips. He drew in smoothly, exhaled in an easy stream of smoke, and passed it back without so much as a cough.

Joshua raised an eyebrow, a hint of surprise flickering across his face, but didn’t comment. DK just grinned, leaning back on the crate like he’d known all along Vernon could handle it.

The moment passed without fuss, the three of them settling into the quiet rhythm of sharing, the smoke curling into the damp night air.

“Well, I got to head off soon, I’m meeting Mingyu and Hannie for a kickabout,” DK says, stretching up and reaching for his phone.

Joshua gave a short laugh. “Damn I haven’t seen Jeonghan in a while. How is he?”

“Best to ask Scoups about that one I can’t lie,” DK replies.

Vernon smirked faintly, passing the joint along.

“You play at all?” Joshua asked him, tilting his head.

“Not really,” Vernon said with a shrug. “Haven’t touched a ball since school.”

Joshua grinned. “Fair enough. Probably for the best anyway. Can’t mix too much weed and football—lungs’ll give up on you real quick.”

DK made a face. “Speak for yourself, bro. Prime athlete over here.”

“Prime clown,” Joshua muttered, taking the joint back.

Vernon just chuckled, tucking his hands into his coat pockets, content to let the smoke drift up into the cold night.

DK pulled his phone back out, squinting at the brightness. “Lemme just see where they’re at.” He thumbed quickly across the screen, muttering under his breath. “Jeonghan types like my grandma, why’s he sending voice notes?”

Joshua leaned over a little, smirking. “Because he’s dramatic. Always has been.”

“Bro,” DK said, shoving the phone at him, “listen to this.”

A tinny voice spilled out: Jeonghan, half-laughing, half-breathless, complaining about the wind on the pitch and Mingyu forgetting to bring water.

Joshua shook his head, grinning. “Classic Jeonghan.”

“Anyway, they’re down by the sports pitches already,” DK said, slipping the phone back into his pocket. He looked at the two of them expectantly. “Come walk with me, please? Safer in numbers. Plus I don’t wanna be out there alone in this cold— I might freeze before I even touch the ball.”

Joshua groaned, tilting his head back against the wall. “You’re such a baby.”

“Shut up, you’re coming,” DK said firmly, then turned to Vernon. “And you. Fresher initiation: watching me embarrass myself.”

Vernon laughed softly, standing up and brushing grass off his jeans. “I mean, I’ve got nothing better to do.”

Joshua sighed, dragging himself up after them. “Fine. But if you fall on your face again, I’m not helping you up.”

“Again?” Vernon echoed, amused.

“Don’t ask,” Joshua said, smirking as they started walking.

Chapter Text

It had hit the hour of 6pm and Hoshi began to grow restless, like a small poodle who hadn’t gone on his daily walk. He emerged into the living room, dressed to face the UK weather like a warrior, and stood in front of the other 3 boys, who were very engaged in an episode of Pointless.

“Right,” he declared, hands on his hips. “We are going on a walk.”

Woozi didn’t even look up from the mug of tea he was doctoring. “You quite literally just said you were fine staying home.”

“Correction.” Hoshi pointed a dramatic finger. “I said I was fine not going to the Freshers’ Fair. But you’re all going to die of vitamin D deficiency if I don’t intervene. Woozi, you’re practically translucent.”

Jun groaned from the sofa, still face-down. “It’s 6pm Hosh. There’s no Vitamin D out right now, he’s gone to bed.”

“Well even better!” Hoshi chirped. “No sunburn or sweating, all good vibes.”
Woozi squinted at him. “You’re insufferable.”

That was when Hoshi pulled out his most devastating move: he climbed onto the arm of the sofa and leaned down, so close Woozi could see the sparkle in his eyes. Hamster-wide and pleading, but softer this time, almost earnest.

“Please?” His voice dropped just enough to make it sound less like a joke and more like a request meant only for Woozi.

For a moment, Woozi froze. He tried to glare, but the corner of his mouth twitched, and the faint flush creeping up his ears betrayed him. He shoved his hands deeper into his hoodie pocket like it might hide the way his chest felt tight.

“You’re insufferable,” he muttered, eyes flicking anywhere but Hoshi’s.

Hoshi grinned, triumphant, but the rush in his chest was less about victory and more about the way Woozi had looked at him — just for a second, like Hoshi wasn’t entirely a joke.

At this point Jun was already sitting up, rubbing his eyes. “Fine. Guys, let’s go. It’s easier to just give him what he wants.”

Wonwoo watched the pair, smirking at their interaction - wondering how they’d act as a couple. Hoshi waking Woozi up to his trivial issues, dragging him to every social event, bothering him with his endless facts and gossip. 

They all get up, huffing and puffing with frustration and wrap up warm for the weather.

Ten minutes later, the four of them were outside, Hoshi marching at the front like a man on a mission. The air smelled faintly of rain, the streetlights now shining and the roads empty.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” Hoshi beamed, swinging his arms.

Jun yawned. “This is pavement. You dragged me out here to look at the pavement.”

Woozi shoved his hands deeper in his pockets. “If I trip and break my ankle, I’m suing you.”

Wonwoo, however, was quiet. The tension he usually carried — the looming anxiety about classes, his yearning for Mingyu, life in general — seemed to lift a little as the breeze hit his face. He’d never admit it aloud, but it wasn’t the worst idea Hoshi had ever had.

“Look, look, bubble tea shop!” Hoshi pressed his face against the shop glass like a child at a zoo. “We should go in.”

“You literally just inhaled a whole pizza,” Woozi muttered, tugging him back by the hood. “Do you ever stop eating?”

Hoshi turned, grinning, walking backward so he could face Woozi. “Do you ever stop being cute when you’re annoyed?”

Jun choked on a laugh and quickly disguised it as a cough. Woozi froze, the tips of his ears going red, before shoving past Hoshi with a scowl.

“Shut up.”

Wonwoo raised a brow but said nothing, quietly filing that reaction away.

They kept moving, passing a second-hand bookshop where Wonwoo lingered a little too long, until Jun looped an arm around his shoulder and tugged him along. A vintage clothing store caught Jun’s eye, but he only made mental notes — Minghao would want to come back together.

“Fine, if we’re not getting bubble tea, we’re at least going for ice cream,” Hoshi announced, pointing at the neon sign across the street. “It’s a walk, which means treats. That’s the law.”

“It’s September,” Woozi deadpanned.

“And?”

Jun groaned. “If I eat dairy before dinner, Minghao’s going to kill me.”

“Then don’t tell him,” Hoshi said with a shrug. “I’ll cover for you. I’m good at lying to boyfriends.”

That earned him a smack to the arm from Jun.

Eventually, they ended up sitting on a low brick wall outside the corner shop, each with something in hand: Wonwoo with a pepsi max, Jun with crisps, Woozi reluctantly sipping a bubble tea Hoshi had insisted on buying for him, and Hoshi proudly showing off his double scoop of mint choc chip.

“Admit it,” Hoshi said, legs swinging, “this was a good idea.”

“No,” three voices chorused at once.

Woozi tried to hide a smile behind his straw, but Hoshi caught it — and felt that stupid rush in his chest again. He leaned a little closer, bumping his shoulder against Woozi’s.

“Caught you,” he whispered, just loud enough for Woozi to hear.

Woozi shot him a glare, but his cheeks stayed pink as he turned away, sipping furiously.

They continued their stroll, Jun and Wonwoo purposefully falling back in step to leave the other two to walk side by side.

“Let’s place a bet, how long till they fuck,” Jun whispers, nudging Wonwoo’s side.

Wonwoo looks forward to the pair - quiet in calm, occasionally throwing secret glances at each other. 

“£20 they fuck in the bathroom by next week.”

“2 weeks - done.” 

They shake hands and continue walking, catching up to the other two lovebirds.

As they passed the local football pitch, the air filled with shouts and whistles of grown men kicking a ball around. Hoshi’s eyes lit up immediately.

“Ooohh, I haven’t played in ages guys! I promise, when I’m in top shape, there’s no-”
“IS THAT THE POWER RANGERS I SEE?” 

Everyone snapped their heads toward the voice — a figure waving from the pitch fence.

“AYO, IS THAT DONKEY KONG?” Hoshi yelled back, bolting towards the fence like his life depended on it.

Seconds later, he and DK collided in a dramatic cuddle, rolling straight onto the ground in a heap, both laughing like kids reunited after years apart.

The others hung back, watching with varying degrees of horror and amusement.

“God,” Jun muttered, shoving another crisp into his mouth.

Woozi immediately shifted behind Wonwoo, whispering through gritted teeth, “If I stay very still, maybe he won’t—”

“TOO LATE, I SEE YOU WOOZI!” DK bellowed from the grass, waving frantically before returning to his theatrics with Hoshi.

By then, Jeonghan had wandered over, carefully stepping around the two idiots rolling on the ground like it was foreplay.

Jeonghan smirked. “What a coincidence. Never thought I’d see Woozi step foot on a sports pitch, but here we are.”

“Hello to you too, Hannie. Don’t worry, I’m bleaching my feet as soon as we get home,” Woozi shot back.

“So, you lot are just… walking past? Or did Hoshi drag you out here against your will?”

“Second one,” Woozi deadpanned, shrugging him off.

“Classic.” Jeonghan smirked, giving Woozi a playful tug. “Come on, let’s catch up properly—how’s choir club been? You’ve been neglecting me, you know.”

Woozi groaned but allowed himself to be guided a few steps away, muttering under his breath about rehearsal schedules and annoying sopranos.

As soon as Jeonghan and Woozi disappeared down the path, Mingyu strode over, his tall frame falling naturally in front of the two. “Oh hey, Jun. Wonwoo.” His smile was small but easy.

“Hey,” Wonwoo muttered, the word catching in his throat as their eyes met. His stomach twisted violently — he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

“Yo,” Jun replied smoothly, grin breaking wider. “Didn’t think I’d catch you out here this late.”

Mingyu snorted. “Please. You know I basically live on this pitch.”

Jun laughed, shaking his head. “Some things never change.”

“Exactly,” Mingyu said, bumping his shoulder lightly. “Hao’s here if you wanna go say hi, he went to the vending machine to get some grub.”

Jun smirked, bumping him back, “Alright, I’ll catch him before he thinks I’m cheating on him.” He runs off towards the glowing hub, leaving Wonwoo and Mingyu alone.

A brief silence settled between them before Mingyu spoke, breaking the quiet.

 “So… how have you been?” His voice was easy, casual.

Wonwoo shrugged, hands tucked into his pockets. “Classes have been… fine. Lots of reading, a bit of writing. Nothing too exciting.”

Mingyu smiled. “Yeah? Sounds… peaceful, in a way. I don’t think I’d survive that much quiet.”

Wonwoo snorted lightly. “Don’t you do architecture? Isn’t that basically the epitome of quiet and calm?”

Mingyu went quiet for a beat, then gave him a small, sweet smile. “I didn’t think you’d remember what I study. I’m… honored.”

Wonwoo froze for a moment, heat creeping up his neck. “Yeah, I mean… it’s hard to forget. You know… buildings,” he muttered, kicking himself mentally for the lame phrasing.

Mingyu chuckled, shaking his head. “True. Buildings. Definitely hard to miss.”

Wonwoo groaned softly. “Shut up.”

Mingyu just grinned, a light teasing in his eyes, but the warmth behind it made Wonwoo’s chest tighten in that familiar, quiet way.

Wonwoo shifted slightly, hands buried in his pockets, glancing at Mingyu. “So… you’ve been busy, huh?”

Mingyu shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “A little. Architecture doesn’t really let you sit still for long. And you? Still surviving all that reading and writing?”

Wonwoo nodded, a faint smile crossing his face. “Yeah… mostly. It’s… fine. Quiet, mostly. Helps me think.”

Mingyu tilted his head, watching him carefully. “I can see that. You always look like you’re thinking about something, even when you’re doing nothing.”

Wonwoo felt heat creeping up his neck. “Uh… I guess.” He looked down, tugging slightly at his sleeve. “It’s… kind of nice to have time to think.”

Mingyu chuckled softly, his voice low. “Yeah. I get that. You’re… easy to talk to, you know. Makes the quiet less… lonely.”

Wonwoo blinked, heart skipping. “I… thanks. I—I like talking to you too.”

Mingyu’s smile softened, teasing but gentle. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

Wonwoo let out a quiet laugh, just enough to hide how flustered he really felt. “Maybe not.”

Mingyu glanced at him, eyes flicking to Wonwoo’s hands tucked into his pockets. “You’re always so… careful. Not just with words, I mean… everything.”

Wonwoo’s stomach twisted, heat rising. “Careful’s… safe. I like safe.” He glanced at Mingyu, trying to keep his voice steady. “You… seem like you’re the opposite of safe, though.”

Mingyu laughed softly, a low, amused sound. “Maybe. Or maybe I just like seeing other people careful.” He let that hang, watching Wonwoo’s subtle reaction.

Wonwoo’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Oh yeah? And… do you like seeing me careful?”

Mingyu smirked, shrugging as if it were no big deal. “I do. You think more than anyone else I know… and it’s… kind of cute.”

Wonwoo felt his ears heat up. “Cute… huh. I… I don’t know if I like that word being used for me.”

“Cute can be good,” Mingyu said, voice gentle but teasing. “It’s… soft. Makes people want to pay attention. You notice things I don’t. That’s… worth noticing.”

Wonwoo swallowed, heart racing. “I… uh… thanks. I guess I… notice you too. Sometimes.” He looked away, kicking at a loose pebble, trying to hide the way his chest felt tight.

Mingyu chuckled, a small shake of his head. “Sometimes? That’s… not very reassuring.”

Wonwoo gave a sheepish grin. “I… can’t help it. You’re… kind of impossible to ignore.”

Mingyu’s smile softened, amused and almost fond. “Impossible, huh? I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Wonwoo felt his chest tighten in a way he couldn’t quite explain. Mingyu’s easy smile, the way his voice carried that teasing warmth—it was distracting, more than he wanted to admit. Every word lingered, every glance made him acutely aware of how… small and clumsy he felt in comparison.

He tried to focus on his footing, on the uneven astro beneath his shoes, but his mind kept drifting back to Mingyu’s words, the soft way he said “cute,” the patient tilt of his head when Wonwoo stumbled over his own replies. It shouldn’t affect him this much, he told himself, but it did.

His fingers itched in his pockets. He wanted to fidget, to make himself look busy, but he couldn’t look away. Every subtle movement Mingyu made—the tilt of his shoulder, the easy grace in the way he walked—pulled Wonwoo in a way that made him both nervous and… excited, though he hated admitting it to himself.

He forced a small, neutral smile onto his face. “If that’s what you want, I guess.”

Wonwoo was just starting to get comfortable in the quiet bubble he shared with Mingyu when a loud, familiar shout cut through the air.

“WONWOO! JUN! WOOZI! COME ON, POWER RANGERS!”

His chest lurched, and his calm composure crumbled immediately. “Ah—” he started, cheeks heating, as the distant sound of bouncing feet approached.

Hoshi came barreling into view first, waving his arms like a man possessed. DK followed close behind, grinning wildly, eyes scanning until they landed on Wonwoo and Mingyu.

“HEY! THERE YOU ARE!” DK shouted, practically vibrating with excitement. “You two have been hiding or what?”

DK jogged up next to them, still grinning. “Ah, there’s my favorite little introvert! Come on, you can’t just stand there—join the fun!” he says, back hugging Wonwoo, who barely knew the guy.

Wonwoo swallowed, glancing at Mingyu, who gave him a small, amused shrug. The subtle warmth in Mingyu’s expression steadied him slightly. He took a deep breath, letting himself be pulled along.

Wonwoo took a small step back, holding up his hands. “I… think I’ll just… sit on the side and watch.” His voice was quiet, but firm, as if setting a boundary against the storm of energy coming toward him.

Hoshi’s face fell, lips pouting exaggeratedly. “WHAT? NO! You can’t just sit there!”

Mingyu stepped closer, voice calm. “It’s okay, let the boy sit if he wants,” he gave a reassuring smile, though his eyes had that teasing glint.

Hoshi huffs, defeated but accepting. “Okay fine but you better cheerlead for me,” he runs off, finding his position on the pitch.

Wonwoo eased onto the nearby bench next to Woozi, hands fidgeting slightly in his pockets. His stomach twisted nervously, but he tried to focus on remaining unobtrusive.

Mingyu approaches him carefully, crouching to tie his laces on the edge of the bench. Once he was done, he looked up, leaning close enough so his voice was just a whisper. “Hey - keep your eyes on me, yeah? I don’t want you getting bored.”

Wonwoo’s ears heated instantly, and he nodded, heart racing. “Y-yeah… I’ll… watch.”

Mingyu’s smirk widened, satisfied, as he straightened up and stepped back into the chaos with Hoshi and DK, leaving Wonwoo both flustered and oddly captivated, unable to look away.

He was properly fucked.

Chapter Text

It had reached the bleak hour of 7 p.m., and Seungkwan and Dino were completely lost on what to do.

They’d already gone through each other’s life stories, Seungkwan had taught Dino the rules of Uno (and beaten him mercilessly three times in a row), and they’d toured the flats about eight times. They tried to invade Vernon’s room, but he seemed to be out, and the mysterious owner of door number three still hadn’t appeared.

Dino sprawled across the side of Seungkwan’s bed, half-scrolling through his phone, while Seungkwan carefully taped up glossy Wonder Girls posters on the wall.

“Man, Dino, you seriously need to check out Sunye’s vocals,” Seungkwan said, smoothing the corner of one with a flourish. “You can’t beat her high notes in Be My Baby. Legendary. Goosebumps every single time.”

Dino didn’t even look up from his screen. “Mm. Still not better than Apink’s Mr. Chu era.”

Seungkwan froze mid-tape. Slowly, dramatically, he turned. “I beg your pardon?”

Dino finally glanced up, a grin tugging at his mouth. “You heard me. Mr. Chu. Chorong, Eunji, Naeun? Perfection. Superior to your Wonder Girls.”

“Superior?!” Seungkwan gasped, scandalised. “Did this child just say Apink are superior to the blueprint of all girl groups? Don’t make me raise my voice in my own home.”

“They’ve got the discography to back it,” Dino shot back, sitting up now. “Consistency. Vocals. Visuals. And I Don’t Know wipes the floor with half the songs you’ve been preaching.”

Seungkwan clutched his chest, as if Dino had shot him where he stood. “I Don’t Know? I Don’t Know?! That’s what you’re bringing to the table against Nobody and So Hot?!”

“Yes,” Dino said simply, smug.

For a moment, the room was tense — the generational K-pop warlines drawn. Then Seungkwan exhaled, flicking his wrist dramatically.

“Fine,” he declared. “We’ll settle this like men. You bring your Apink playlist, I’ll bring my Wonder Girls greatest hits, and by midnight one of us will be crying.”

“Deal,” Dino said, flopping back on the bed with a grin. “And spoiler alert — it’s gonna be you.”

Seungkwan gasped. “You insolent fetus.”

Before Dino could fire back, the sound of the front entrance beeping and creaking open cut through their theatrics. Heavy footsteps shuffled inside, a bag hitting the floor with a soft thud.

The two froze.

“…You think that’s Vernon?” Dino whispered.

Seungkwan narrowed his eyes at the door. “Unless door number three’s finally been claimed, yeah.”

Dino runs to open the door and right on cue, Vernon appears in the doorway, looking equal parts tired and amused as he took in the sight: Seungkwan standing dramatically beneath a wall of Wonder Girls posters, and Dino in a matching pyjama set that was definitely made for kids.

“…What did I just walk into?” Vernon asked flatly.

Seungkwan’s face lit up like a bulb. “Vernon! Perfect timing. Settle this for us—Wonder Girls or Apink?”

Vernon blinked, still in the doorway. “…I’ve been gone for three hours and this is what you two have been doing?”

“Don’t dodge the question,” Seungkwan insisted, pointing accusingly at him. “History depends on your answer.”

Dino snorted, tossing a pillow at Seungkwan. “Ignore him. You don’t need to save his ego.”

Seungkwan wasted no time, darting forward to grab Vernon’s arm and drag him fully into the room. “Don’t just stand there like a side character, come in! We’ve been bored out of our minds - where have you been?”

Vernon let himself be pulled inside, dropping onto the edge of the bed beside Dino with a heavy sigh. “I’ve… been out,” he said vaguely, rubbing the back of his neck.

“‘Been out,’” Seungkwan echoed, hands on his hips. “That’s all we get? No context? No plotline? We’ve been suffering through existential boredom for hours and you’re out having adventures?”

He moves closer and narrows his eyes immediately. “Wait. Are you…?” He leaned closer, squinting at Vernon like a detective. “Oh my god, you’re high.”

Vernon’s laugh slipped out before he could stop it — low and warm, sheepish around the edges. “Maybe a little.”

Dino burst out laughing, flopping back onto the bed. “Unbelievable. We’re dying of boredom, and this guy’s out here vibing.”

“Vibing? He’s on another planet,” Seungkwan huffed, though the corners of his mouth betrayed him with a smile. He grabbed a pillow and whacked Vernon lightly on the shoulder. “You could’ve at least invited us.”

“Didn’t think you’d wanna come,” Vernon said honestly, still smiling faintly.

Seungkwan gasped. “Excuse you. I’m the life of every party. Dino, back me up.”

Dino smirked. “You’re the life of something, but I’m not sure it’s a party.”

Vernon chuckled again, softer this time, and leaned back against the wall. “You two are ridiculous.”

“And you’re deflecting,” Seungkwan countered, dropping onto the floor cross-legged in front of him. “So tell us — what were you doing? Who were you with? Details, Americano. We demand details.”

Vernon blinked slowly, debating how much to say, then shrugged. “Just… hanging out. Nothing crazy. Just needed some air.”

“Air,” Seungkwan repeated flatly.

“Yeah,” Vernon said, eyes crinkling as he fought another laugh. “Good air.”

Dino shook his head, still grinning. “This is gonna be fun. We finally get the mysterious Vernon reveal, and he shows up stoned.”

Seungkwan clapped his hands together. “Perfect. Then tonight’s mission is clear — we entertain him while he’s high enough to actually laugh at my jokes.”

Vernon shot him a lazy side-eye, but his small smile lingered. “Good luck with that.”

Seungkwan dropped onto the bed beside him, shoulder nudging him with just enough force to make Vernon shift. “Don’t give me that face. You already think I’m funny.”

Vernon blinked. “…Do I?”

“Yes,” Seungkwan said without hesitation, leaning in a little. “I’ve clocked it. Every time, your mouth does this tiny twitch thing—like you’re losing a fight with yourself. You’re not slick.” He turned to Dino. “Back me up here.”

Dino glanced up from his phone, grinning. “Facts. It’s like his tell in poker. He’s doomed.”

Caught, Vernon laughed under his breath, dragging a hand over his face to hide it. “You two are ridiculous.”

“Correction,” Seungkwan announced, tossing a pillow at Dino, “I’m ridiculous. He’s just my sidekick.”

“Proudly,” Dino shot back, already winding up to throw the pillow back.

The room dissolved into noise — Dino queuing Apink videos, Seungkwan groaning dramatically about how “second-gen vocalists carried civilization,” and Vernon adding a dry comment every so often that made them both howl. The kind of easy chaos that felt like it had been there longer than a first week of uni should allow.

Vernon sat cross-legged at the edge of the bed, trying to keep his focus on Dino’s phone screen and not on the way Seungkwan filled every inch of the room with noise.

It was strange, how quickly it all felt comfortable. He’d only met them a few hours ago, but already, Seungkwan’s laugh sounded like something familiar — too loud, too dramatic, but warm enough to pull him in before he even had a chance to resist.

He caught himself watching, more than once. The way Seungkwan waved his hands when he talked, how his mouth quirked just before he teased, even the casual bump of his shoulder earlier — all of it left Vernon feeling like his chest was a little too tight.

He told himself it was just new-friend energy, the rush of starting uni, meeting people who actually seemed to want him around. And maybe that was true. But when Seungkwan glanced at him mid-bicker with Dino, eyes bright and challenging like Vernon had to choose a side, Vernon felt heat climb the back of his neck.

He ducked his head quickly, pretending to laugh at Dino’s commentary, but inside he was buzzing — unsettled in the best kind of way.

Seungkwan flopped back on his bed dramatically. “Alright, spill. Who’ve you been out with all day? Don’t tell me you’ve got a secret double life already.”

Vernon shifted on the edge of the mattress, lips twitching. “Nothing that dramatic. I met up with my childhood friend Joshua—he’s from LA too. We kind of grew up with each other.”

Dino perked up, rolling onto his stomach. “Oh, another American! Does he sound like you?”

Vernon chuckled. “Pretty much. Maybe less awkward.”

“Impossible,” Seungkwan said, grinning, then waved a hand. “Go on.”

“Uh, so Joshua introduced me to his mate, DK. He’s… loud. Really loud. Kind of reminds me of Hoshi, if you know who that is.”

“Nope,” Seungkwan said immediately, “but I’m already exhausted on your behalf.”

Vernon laughed under his breath. “It wasn’t that bad. He’s funny, actually. Then I met Mingyu and Jeonghan at the pitches. They were just hanging around, kicking a ball. It was… chill. Nice.”

Dino’s eyes widened. “Bro, you’ve already met half the campus in a day! Meanwhile, we’re stuck in here playing Uno for the fifteenth time.”

Seungkwan groaned. “Don’t remind me. If I see one more reverse card, I’m setting this place on fire.”

Vernon smiled at the both of them, a little shy but genuine. “You should come next time. They seemed cool—pretty easy to talk to.”

Seungkwan tilted his head, studying him for a second. “Look at you, mister social butterfly. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Vernon felt his cheeks warm under the weight of that grin. He rubbed the back of his neck, mumbling, “Guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

“So what’s the plan tomorrow then?” Dino asked, already stretching like he was about to hibernate. “Because if it’s Uno again, I’m dropping out.”

“Please,” Seungkwan scoffed, throwing a cushion at him. “You’re not escaping me that easily. But actually, yeah—what are we doing? Freshers week is supposed to be, like, non-stop chaos and all I’ve done is babysit you.”

Dino pouted. “I taught you how to play Uno.”

“That’s not a cultural experience, Chan.”

Vernon cleared his throat lightly, and both their heads snapped toward him. He shifted a little, but kept his voice steady. “Um… DK mentioned there’s a party on Friday. At Ministry.”

Seungkwan’s jaw dropped. “Wait—the Ministry? Ministry of Sound?”

“Yeah,” Vernon said, a small smile tugging at his mouth at Seungkwan’s reaction. “Apparently it’s, like, the big freshers thing.”

“Oh my God,” Seungkwan gasped, clutching Dino’s arm. “We’re going. We have to go. Vernon, you’ve just saved our social lives.”

Dino groaned. “A club? Really? My ears are going to die.”

“They’ll die in style,” Seungkwan shot back. “Besides, we can’t be the sad flat who skips everything. It’s tradition.”

Vernon ducked his head, a little shy but pleased. “I figured you’d want to know. DK made it sound like the entire uni will be there.”

Dino flopped back dramatically. “Fine. But I’m bringing earplugs.”

Seungkwan ignored him, already scribbling imaginary plans in the air. “Tomorrow, though—we should check out the clubs fair. I need to find choir.”

“Choir?” Vernon asked, curious.

“Obviously,” Seungkwan said. “You think I’m wasting these golden pipes on shower acoustics?” He paused, narrowing his eyes playfully at Vernon. “You should come. Sign up for something.”

Dino perked up. “Dance society! Come on, Vernon, imagine it: me, you, Apink covers on stage—history in the making.”

Vernon laughed, shaking his head. “I don’t think dance is my thing.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Dino insisted. “Freshers is about suffering together.”

Seungkwan smirked, leaning back on his hands. “Yeah, Vernon. You’ve already been corrupted by DK, what’s a little more peer pressure?”

Vernon rolled his eyes lightly, though there was no heat in it. “I’ll… think about it.” 

Dino sat up suddenly, clutching his stomach. “Speaking of suffering—I’m starving.”

Seungkwan groaned, flopping back on his bed. “Of course you are. You eat like a horse.”

“Better than eating like a bird,” Dino shot back. “You’ve had, what, half a granola bar today?”

“I had toast!” Seungkwan protested, before his own stomach betrayed him with a loud growl. He clutched it, mortified. “Okay… maybe food wouldn’t hurt.”

They both turned to Vernon, who was still perched on the edge of Seungkwan’s desk chair, scrolling absentmindedly on his phone. He looked up at their expectant stares. “What?”

“You’re part of this now,” Seungkwan declared. “Flat decisions. Democracy. What are we eating?”

Vernon blinked, a little caught off guard, then shrugged. “Pizza?”

Dino snapped his fingers. “Done. Genius. Knew I liked you for a reason.”

Seungkwan gasped dramatically. “Wait—do we trust Vernon with the toppings?”

Vernon gave a rare smirk, eyes glinting. “Depends. Do you hate pineapple?”

“YES,” Seungkwan barked immediately.

“No,” Dino countered at the same time.

A beat of silence passed before they all burst out laughing, Dino nearly rolling off the bed.

“Fine,” Seungkwan huffed, grabbing his phone. “Half pineapple, half not. Compromise. But if the delivery guy judges us, I’m blaming you two.”

Vernon just shook his head, amused, watching as Seungkwan wrestled with the delivery app and Dino offered increasingly unhelpful commentary. For the first time since arriving, he felt… settled. Like maybe, just maybe, this flat wasn’t going to be so bad.

And when Seungkwan tossed him a grin over his shoulder—bright, easy, like they’d known each other longer than a single day—Vernon found himself smiling back before he could stop it.

Chapter Text

The flat door creaked open with the weight of three exhausted bodies behind it. Night had settled fully, the kind of inky blue that swallowed the last scraps of daylight, leaving only the glow of distant streetlights and the hum of passing cars.

Hoshi was the first through, nearly tripping on the step as he shoved his trainers off in one dramatic kick. “Home sweet hoooome!” he yelled, as if they were conquering heroes returning from battle.

Woozi, neat as ever, crouched to untie his laces carefully and set them against the wall. He gave Hoshi a sidelong glance. “You realize the neighbors hate us already, right?”

“They’ll love me,” Hoshi countered, sprawling immediately across the sofa like a starfish claiming territory. “I radiate positive vibes. Community spirit. Camaraderie.”

“You radiate noise pollution,” Woozi muttered, tugging his hoodie tighter.

Wonwoo trailed in last, quiet as always, carefully setting his shoes in line beside Woozi’s. His hair was frazzled from the night air, and he leaned back against the closed door with a small sigh. The flat smelled faintly of leftover paint, dust, and takeout, but somehow, it already felt like theirs.

“Wonwoo,” Hoshi said suddenly, sitting up to point at him with grave intensity. “Am I not a source of joy? Do I not light up this dim flat with my presence?”

Wonwoo blinked, then tilted his head. “…It feels… alive, I guess.”

“Ha!” Hoshi flopped back down dramatically. “See? He gets it. Finally, a man of taste.”

“That wasn’t a compliment,” Woozi said dryly, heading toward the tiny kitchenette.

The cupboards rattled as Woozi pulled them open, retrieving a pack of tea bags and three mugs. “I’m making tea - anyone want?”

“Yes!” Hoshi’s head perking up immediately. “Extra sugar, my sweetie—”

“Make it yourself,” Woozi interrupted flatly, slamming the fridge shut.

“Rude.”

Wonwoo slid into the armchair by the window, tucking his legs beneath him. “I’ll take one. No sugar.”

Woozi glanced over briefly, already knowing his friend’s order by heart. “Got it.”

The kettle hissed, filling the space with warmth and steam. By the time Woozi returned, balancing three mismatched mugs, Hoshi had migrated into a half-sit, half-sprawl, scrolling on his phone and humming nonsense.

“My hero!” Hoshi cried, taking his mug with exaggerated gratitude.

“I said make it yourself,” Woozi replied, though he handed it over anyway.

Wonwoo accepted his with a quiet “thanks,” blowing gently across the steam. For a while, the only sounds were the slurp of tea and the background noise from the tv.

Of course, silence never lasted long with Hoshi.

“So,” he said suddenly, voice pitched with mock seriousness. “Woozi.”

Woozi didn’t even bother looking up. “No.”

“Yes,” Hoshi pressed, a grin breaking across his face. “You and DK, rolling around in the grass like some kind of rom-com. Don’t tell me there wasn’t a spark.”

“Please,” Woozi scoffed, flicking a hand dismissively. “If that’s romance, I’d rather be single forever.”

Hoshi clutched his chest like he’d been stabbed. “Cold. Absolutely heartless.”

“Realistic,” Woozi corrected, reaching for his drink.

“Or,” Hoshi leaned in, eyes narrowing with mock suspicion, “you’re deflecting because you already like someone else.”

That made Woozi pause just a second too long. His expression stayed flat, but his ears betrayed him — a faint flush creeping up the tips.

Wonwoo caught it, nearly choking on his tea again, though he had the sense to cough into his sleeve instead of laughing outright.

“Lol. No way,” Woozi said finally, voice as dry as ever, though his eyes darted briefly toward Hoshi before sliding away again.

Hoshi grinned like a cat who’d just cornered a mouse. “Ohhh, that was way too defensive. You do like someone else. Who is it?”

“No one,” Woozi snapped, a little too quickly.

“Then you won’t mind if I keep guessing?” Hoshi sing-songed, rocking back on the cushions like he had all night to pry.

“You’re unbearable,” Woozi muttered.

“And yet,” Hoshi said sweetly, “you still let me hang around.”

For a heartbeat, Woozi almost smiled — almost — before covering it with another eye roll. “Remind me to fix that mistake tomorrow.”

“Never gonna happen,” Hoshi shot back, but this time his grin softened just slightly, as if he couldn’t help himself.

The air settled for a beat, Hoshi still grinning like he’d won a prize, Woozi glaring like he might lob another cushion if provoked. Wonwoo set his tea down before it sloshed over the edge.

“Anyway,” Hoshi declared suddenly, clapping his hands like he was closing the subject himself. “Enough about Woozi’s secret love life. Let’s talk about Wonwoo’s.”

Wonwoo blinked, startled. “Mine?”

“Yeah, yours,” Hoshi said, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Like, you and Mingyu back there. The vibe? Unmistakable.”

“There was no vibe,” Wonwoo said firmly, though his voice came out a little tighter than he’d intended.

“Uh-huh.” Hoshi raised a brow. “You guys were having your own little world conversation while the rest of us were fending off DK’s Broadway audition.”

Woozi finally looked up from his phone, a hint of curiosity flickering in his gaze. “You were talking for a while.”

Wonwoo shifted in his seat, feeling all too exposed under their stares. “He was just… being nice. That’s all.”

“Nice,” Hoshi repeated, dragging the word out. “Like, ‘normal nice’ or ‘I’m paying attention to you in a special way’ nice?”

“Don’t start,” Wonwoo muttered, tugging at his sleeve. He could already feel heat climbing up the back of his neck.

Hoshi leaned forward, chin propped in his palm, studying him with exaggerated thoughtfulness. “You blushed at least three times. Don’t deny it.”

“I did not,” Wonwoo said, though the memory of Mingyu’s easy smile sent a treacherous flutter through his chest.

Woozi hummed softly, not quite teasing, but not entirely neutral either. “Doesn’t matter if you did. He seemed comfortable with you.”

The casual observation made Wonwoo freeze in place. Comfortable. The word sank into him, warming and unnerving all at once.

Hoshi caught the flicker of something on his face and pounced immediately. “See? You like him.”

Wonwoo groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “Why do I even hang out with you two?”

“Because we’re delightful,” Hoshi answered, utterly unrepentant.

“Because you can’t keep things bottled up forever,” Woozi added dryly, though there was a surprising gentleness beneath his tone.

Wonwoo peeked at them through his fingers. They were both watching him — Hoshi with gleeful interest, Woozi with quiet patience. It was almost enough to make him want to say something real. Almost.

Instead, he muttered, “We just talked. That’s it.”

“Mm,” Hoshi said, unconvinced. “For now.”

Wonwoo tried to busy himself with his tea again, but the mug was already empty. He set it down with more force than intended, which only made Hoshi’s grin widen.

“Okay,” Hoshi said, hands steepled like some kind of detective. “So, if you did like Mingyu—which you clearly do—what’s the plan?”

“There is no plan,” Wonwoo muttered.

“Bold strategy,” Woozi deadpanned.

Wonwoo sighed, slumping back into the couch cushions. “He’s… different, alright? Easy to talk to. I don’t feel like I have to… perform, you know?”

Hoshi tilted his head, something softer flickering under the mischief. “Sounds like you like how he makes you feel.”

The words sat heavy in the air, heavier than Hoshi probably meant them to. Wonwoo’s chest tightened, a quiet ache he wasn’t sure what to do with. Because it was true. Mingyu had looked at him like he mattered, even in a short, casual conversation. It had been a long time since anyone made him feel that… seen.

“Anyway,” he said quickly, desperate to move the spotlight. “We don’t even know when we’ll see him again.”

“Actually,” Woozi cut in, sliding his phone back into his pocket, “I heard DK talking earlier—there’s some party at Ministry on Friday. Everyone’s going. Bet Mingyu will too.”

Hoshi gasped, immediately lighting up. “Ohhh, this is fate! Club lights, music blasting, Wonwoo and Mingyu on the dance floor—”

“I don’t dance,” Wonwoo said flatly.

“You will if I drag you,” Hoshi shot back without missing a beat.

Woozi smirked faintly, clearly entertained. “I’d pay to see that.”

Wonwoo groaned, burying his face in his hands again. But under the groan, under the embarrassment, a small spark of anticipation flickered. Ministry. Friday. Maybe it wasn’t impossible after all.

The conversation drifted after that, the three of them tossing around half-serious ideas about clubs they might join and who’d survive their first week of lectures. Eventually, the mood softened, the edges of the evening settling into something comfortable.

“I wonder if Jun’s even coming back tonight,” Hoshi mused, yawning so wide his jaw cracked. “Bet he’s glued to Minghao.”

Woozi rolled his eyes, but there was no bite in it. “Wouldn’t surprise me.”

They sat there together in comfortable silence, Wonwoo contemplating his life, Woozi and Hoshi scrolling through their phones.

Hoshi finally flopped back onto the sofa with a dramatic groan. “I swear, my energy levels are officially negative. I’m done for today.”

Wonwoo stretched, his shoulders heavy from the day. “Yeah… I think that’s everyone. That ‘walk’ absolutely killed me.”

Woozi let out a quiet huff, leaning back with his arms crossed. “Finally,” he muttered, though there was no real malice in it—more relief than anything.

Hoshi sat up again, resting his chin on his knees. “Don’t think you’re off the hook, Jihoon. You’re still going to get roasted tomorrow if you try to nap through breakfast.”

“I’ll survive,” Woozi replied, smirking faintly. He wasn’t about to give Hoshi the satisfaction of seeing him flustered, but he couldn’t stop the tiny curl of his lips.

Wonwoo chuckled softly. “I’m heading to bed before Hoshi decides to reenact the entire Freshers’ Week fair in the living room.”

“Smart choice,” Woozi said, pushing himself upright. Hoshi groaned and threw a cushion at him, which Woozi caught with minimal effort, holding it up like a trophy.

“Oi! That’s cheating!” Hoshi exclaimed, laughing. “I’m wounded!”

“You’re dramatic,” Woozi deadpanned, though the warmth in his chest betrayed him.

“Exactly!” Hoshi grinned, finally rolling off the sofa. “Time to claim my bed before I collapse mid-walk.”

Wonwoo gave a lazy wave and headed toward his room. “Goodnight, idiots.”

“Night!” Hoshi called back, already bounding down the hall.

Woozi followed more slowly, washing up quickly in the bathroom—face, teeth, hands—keeping his routine precise. He finished, changed into pajamas, and paused at his bedroom door.

From down the hall, Hoshi’s voice floated back: “Oi, genius, don’t fall asleep before me!”

Woozi’s lips twitched. “Like I would,” he muttered under his breath.

Hoshi appeared outside his door a moment later, stretching and yawning, leaning casually against the frame. Woozi felt the faintest pull in his chest, the subtle warmth of familiarity and irritation and something he couldn’t name all at once.

“You’re quiet,” Hoshi said, eyes glinting faintly in the dim light. “Contemplating your next clever remark?”

“Maybe,” Woozi replied, letting a ghost of a smile tug at his lips. “Or maybe I’m just… tired.”

“Mm, tired,” Hoshi echoed, stepping just a little closer. “Don’t stay up too late thinking about me, genius.”

Woozi’s throat went dry, and he quickly looked down at his feet. “I—” He cleared his throat. “Goodnight, Hoshi.”

“Night, Jihoon,” Hoshi said softly, a grin lingering. He straightened and finally disappeared down the hall, leaving Woozi at his door, heart thumping in a quiet, steady rhythm.

With a final sigh, Woozi slid into his bed, the faint echo of Hoshi’s energy still humming in the apartment. He shook his head, smiling to himself in the dark. Some things, he thought, never really changed.

Chapter Text

The door to Minghao’s room clicked shut behind Jun, muffling the distant hum of the apartment’s living room. Minghao, already curled up under the soft duvet on his bed, stretched lazily, a small grin tugging at his lips. Jun sank down next to him, careful not to disturb the perfectly balanced pile of textbooks and art supplies Minghao had scattered across the bedside table.

“Finally,” Jun sighed, letting his head rest lightly on Minghao’s shoulder. “I was starting to think we’d never get a moment to ourselves.”

Minghao chuckled, tilting his head to press a kiss to Jun’s temple. “We did have a moment,” he murmured, voice soft and teasing. “You just spent half of it in the kitchen arguing with Mingyu about whether chocolate counts as a vegetable.”

Jun laughed, rolling slightly so he could look at Minghao. “It does count. Technically. It comes from cacao beans, which are plants. That’s almost a salad, right?”

Minghao snorted, shaking his head. “Almost. But not quite enough to get you off the hook for stealing all the marshmallows from the hot chocolate.”

“I regret nothing,” Jun said firmly, but the warmth in his voice betrayed him.

They lay in a comfortable silence for a few moments, the kind that only comes from knowing each other for long enough to not need words constantly.

“You’re quiet,” Minghao observed, eyes flicking to Jun’s face.

Jun tilted his head. “Am I? I just… like listening to you breathe. It’s nice.”

Jun shifted slightly, letting his head rest against Minghao’s shoulder. The soft hum of the city outside drifted through the half-open window, carrying the faint scent of late-night air and distant traffic. He could feel Minghao’s warmth through the thin duvet, the steady rise and fall of his chest calming in a way that made Jun almost forget the chaos of the living room just a few doors away.

“Think they’ll ever be quiet?” Jun murmured, voice low, almost teasing.

Minghao snorted, hand brushing along Jun’s arm. “Not a chance. They thrive on it.”

Jun smiled, letting his fingers wander lightly across Minghao’s side. “I swear, they could be banned from the kitchen and still manage to set off smoke alarms.”

Minghao laughed softly, eyes twinkling. “Probably. But it’s entertaining… for me.”

A sudden knock on the door made them jump. “Hey, you two! I need some snacks!” DK’s voice carried down the hallway.

“Tell him to go away!” Jun called back, rolling his eyes.

Minghao groaned. “I’ll get him in a sec.” He swung his legs off the bed and opened the door slightly, leaving Jun sprawled across the pillows.

“What do you want?” Minghao asked, already frowning.

“Cookies!” DK called, voice echoing faintly down the hall.

“I don’t have any DK please check the kitchen and go away ,” Minghao said, closing the door with a grin and returning to Jun. “See? Chaos doesn’t stop at the door.”

Jun rolled onto his side, eyes twinkling. “You’re used to this, huh?”

“Too used,” Minghao admitted, resting his head lightly on Jun’s shoulder. “But it’s funny… makes the quiet moments like this feel even better.”

Before Jun could respond, another voice cut through the calm. “Did someone say cookies?” Mingyu leaned into the doorway, hands on his hips, looking far too smug. 

Jun groaned, burying his face into Minghao’s chest. “Mingyu, not now. We’re… busy.”

“You mean… busy being adorable?” Mingyu smirked. “I think that qualifies as a crime.”

“Get out,” Minghao said, though he couldn’t hide his laugh.

“Fine, fine,” Mingyu said, retreating down the hall. “But I expect cookie leftovers as tribute!”

Jun lifted his head, exhaling dramatically. “Why is your life so chaotic?”

Minghao shrugged, “Because my friends are like that. You get used to it… sometimes.”

Jun shook his head, smiling. “I get too much of it at home already, now I have to deal with it here too.”

Minghao grinned, running a hand gently through Jun’s hair. “Well, someone has to balance out the madness. You’re welcome.”

They lay there in comfortable silence for a while, the faint sounds of laughter and movement outside the room fading into the background. Jun’s hand found Minghao’s, fingers interlacing naturally, and he felt a little thrill at how effortless it felt to just be near him.

A soft cough outside the door made them both glance up, and sure enough, DK’s head peeked around the frame again. “Just checking—cookies? Or did Mingyu eat them all?”

“DK, GO AWAY!” Jun and Minghao shouted together, voices perfectly in sync.

DK froze mid-step, eyes wide. “Woah—simultaneous yelling? Okay, that actually hurts! You’re both ruthless!”

He flailed his hands dramatically before retreating down the hall, muttering over his shoulder, “Fine! Fine, I’m going! But don’t blame me if there are no cookies left!”

Jun groaned, pressing his forehead gently against Minghao’s chest. “I swear, if he talks about cookies one more time—”

“I’ll handle him,” Minghao said softly, threading his fingers through Jun’s hair, his thumb brushing along the nape of his neck.

Jun nudged him lightly, a small smirk on his face. “Finally… a moment without chaos.”

Minghao leaned back, letting Jun rest comfortably against him. “Exactly. We should savor it while it lasts.”

Jun rolled slightly onto his side, propping his head on Minghao’s chest. “Agreed. But don’t get too comfortable… DK or Mingyu could show up any second.”

Minghao chuckled, voice low and warm. “Then we’ll deal with them… quietly.”

They settled into the calm, letting the warmth between them stretch out, enjoying the rare stillness before the inevitable chaos crept back into their evening.

Chapter Text

🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

Chapter Text

min9yu_k

mingyu: heyy u might be asleep but just checking if ur coming to ministry on friday?

our flat’s going so i’m guessing jun will too

unless he hasn’t dragged u into it yet lol

dk’s going, so hoshi will for sure

pretty sure woozi too

and… me :)

if that makes any difference

wonwoo: hey

nah i dont sleep this early dw

unfortunately ive already been coerced :(

mingyu: oh hey nightowl

why do u sound so glum - thought youd be excited im going 🙄

wonwoo: ….

mingyu: wow im hurt

jk but it’ll be fun

freshers deserves at least one terrible club night

wonwoo: terrible huh?

selling it real well

mingyu: trust me, the terrible part is the music

everything else will be fine

plus, i’ll make sure u don’t get lost in the crowd

wonwoo: who said i’d get lost?

mingyu: idk, you seem like the type to hide in a corner with a drink 

then secretly dip

wonwoo: …okay maybe true

mingyu: don’t worry

i’ll keep my eyes on you 😉

wonwoo: …

go away mingyu

mingyu: hehe good night wonwoo ill see you on friday :)

wonwoo: gn mingyu

going rangers

(for context - wonwoo is black ranger, hoshi is red, jun is green, woozi is blue ok thanks)

black ranger: guys
i think i just died

red ranger: lol same. stairs murdered me today. RIP hoshi 1996–2023

green ranger: can u two shut up im literally lying in the dark trying to astral project

blue ranger: …what do you want wonwoo.

black ranger: mingyu texted me.

red ranger: OOOOOOOH 👀

spill rn

green ranger: it’s 1am and you’re starting a fanfic in here.

blue ranger: seriously. get to the point.

black ranger: he asked if i was going to ministry on friday.
and then he said he’ll make sure i don’t get lost.
and then.
he said “i’ll find you.”

red ranger: 😭😭😭 dramaaa. like main character energy. he’s into u omg

green ranger: or maybe he thinks you’d get kidnapped at ministry.

blue ranger: …yeah. valid concern.

black ranger: you guys are no help.

red ranger: ignore them babe, trust me, that’s flirting. my hoshi radar never lies

green ranger: your hoshi radar has always lied.

blue ranger: he thinks everyone is flirting with him.

red ranger: not everyone… just you ;)

blue ranger: delete this app.

black ranger: HELLO focus please?? i’m spiraling over here

green ranger: ok so you spiraled. congrats. what now?

black ranger: i don’t know.

what if he meant it?

blue ranger: then you’ll find out friday. until then, stop being dramatic.

red ranger: dream about himmmm <3

green ranger: gross.

blue ranger: goodnight, idiots.

black ranger:
…gnight.

red ranger: gnight my little funeral boy 💕

green ranger: i’m blocking him tomorrow.

The chat went quiet after that, the little typing bubbles fading away until the screen dimmed in his hand. He lay back against his pillow, phone resting on his chest, but his mind was anything but still.

He replayed Mingyu’s texts again, word for word, tone for tone, as if reading them enough times might reveal some hidden layer. I’ll find you. It echoed louder than it should, sweeter than it should, his chest tightening every time he heard it in Mingyu’s voice.

It was ridiculous, he knew. Mingyu was probably just being nice. But something about it lingered, brushing against the edges of hope Wonwoo hadn’t let himself feel in a long time.

He exhaled slowly, shutting his eyes. Friday suddenly felt both impossibly far away and far too close.

Underneath it all, though, was the smallest, stupidest smile he couldn’t quite get rid of.

Chapter Text

For any other human, Fridays were the best day of the week — a short schedule, leaving early, then going out for drinks and most likely the club, and not having to worry about waking up hungover the next day because it was Saturday.

Unfortunately for Seungcheol, Friday meant a closing shift at the local café.

Luckily for him, it was still Freshers Week, so the place wasn’t yet jam-packed with uni students stressing over exams and assignments or nervously attempting their first dates.

He tugged his black apron tighter around his waist and leaned against the counter for a moment, letting his eyes drift across the café.

It was a quiet, cozy spot tucked just behind the campus — brick walls, big front windows, and shelves stacked with plants no one remembered to water on time. They got a steady stream of regulars, though the real boost had come thanks to DK and Mingyu. The two had taken it upon themselves to “spread the gospel” during welcome week, telling anyone who’d listen that the café had the best coffee near campus.

Which, of course, translated to: “Our hyung works here, so come keep him busy.”

Seungcheol had rolled his eyes when he found out, but he couldn’t deny the results. A handful of curious freshers had already started showing up just because they recognized him from DK’s stories. It was embarrassing and endearing all at once — the kind of chaos he didn’t ask for but tolerated anyway.

He sighed, glancing at the clock. 3 p.m. Only six hours until close.

He rechecked the orders and then busied himself wiping down the counter. The routine settled into him easily — rag in one hand, idle thoughts in the other. He thought about how this was the last quiet week before the term really began and everyone lost their minds. He thought about how he’d much rather be anywhere else on a Friday night.

The bell above the door jingled, pulling him out of it.

“Cheollie!”

He didn’t even need to look up to recognize the voice. DK was practically bouncing through the door, grin so wide it was almost blinding. Mingyu trailed behind him, much taller, carrying the same smile but toned down into something easier, calmer.

“Speak of the devils,” Seungcheol muttered, though his mouth tugged into a reluctant grin.

“You hiding in here all day?” Mingyu asked, sliding his hands into his hoodie pockets.

“Some of us have jobs,” Seungcheol said, raising an eyebrow. “Not everyone gets to mess around and pregame before they go clubbing.”

At the mention, DK perked up immediately. “Ohhh, so you are coming tonight?”

“No,” Seungcheol said flatly, reaching for a cloth to clean the already spotless counter.

“C’mon,” DK whined, leaning dramatically against the counter like he was dying. “It’s Freshers! Ministry’s, like, the thing. Everyone’s going!”

“Everyone,” Mingyu echoed with a grin. “Hannie, Minghao and Jun, Hoshi’s flat, and us. You can’t ditch your boys like that.”

Scoups gave them both a look. “Did Jeonghan put you up to this?”

“Nope,” DK said, popping the ‘p’ like it was proof. “This is all me. I just don’t wanna see your boring face behind this counter while we’re all out having fun.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Seungcheol muttered, but his chest felt lighter somehow. They had that effect — DK’s energy, Mingyu’s easy warmth. It was hard to stay stuck in your head when they were around.

“Two iced americanos,” Mingyu said, resting his elbows on the counter, “before he keeps talking your ear off.”

Scoups shook his head but turned to the machine, letting the motions take over — scoop, tamp, pull, pour. The familiar hiss and gurgle filled the quiet space between them. Over his shoulder, he could hear DK chatting animatedly about their plans, about who was wearing what, about how tonight was going to be insane.

When he set the drinks down, Mingyu popped some coins into the tip jar with an easy smile. “Don’t work too hard, hyung.”

“Don’t get too drunk,” Seungcheol shot back.

“Same to you,” DK said, already sipping his drink with a satisfied hum. “But seriously, try get off earlier, everyone’s pregaming at ours tonight.”

Scoups sighed, knowing he was stuck till the very last second of the hour of 10pm.

They lingered another few minutes, trading small talk, before finally heading back out into the late afternoon sun, the bell chiming cheerfully as the door swung shut.

And then the café was quiet again.

Seungcheol leaned back against the counter, exhaling slowly. The clock on the wall ticked past four. Still hours until close. 

For now, it was just the hum of the machine, the faint smell of roasted beans, and the steady rhythm of work. He picked up the cloth again, wiping down the counter like he hadn’t already, letting himself sink back into the quiet.

Joshua sat cross-legged on Jeonghan’s bed, scrolling absently through his phone while Jeonghan fussed in front of his mirror, trying on rings like he was auditioning for royalty. A playlist hummed from the corner — mellow indie tracks that filled the pauses without demanding attention.

“You do realize,” Joshua said at last, “you’re about to spend three hours perfecting your look just to have it ruined in five minutes once we step into Ministry.”

Jeonghan caught his gaze in the reflection, lips curving into a sly smile. “That’s the point. I’d rather be ruined in style.”

Joshua huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “You sound exhausting.”

“Correction — I sound fabulous.” Jeonghan slid another ring on and turned, finally flopping onto the bed beside him. He studied Joshua for a moment, eyes glittering like he’d just thought of something dangerous. “So… what’s the deal with you and DK?”

Joshua blinked, caught off guard. “What deal?”

“Don’t play dumb.” Jeonghan propped himself up on an elbow, grin widening. “You’ve been talking a lot. He was practically glowing last night when your name came up.”

Joshua frowned, warmth creeping up the back of his neck. “He’s just friendly. That’s literally DK’s whole personality.”

“Mm.” Jeonghan tapped his chin, clearly unconvinced. “Friendly doesn’t explain the way he looks at you. That’s more… fond.”

Joshua’s lips parted, but no clever reply came out. He finally muttered, “You’re reading too much into it.”

“Am I?” Jeonghan sing-songed.

Joshua grabbed the nearest pillow and shoved it at his face. “Yes. Drop it.”

Jeonghan’s muffled laugh came through the pillow before he pushed it away. “Fine. I’ll behave… for now.”

Silence settled, comfortable but edged with unspoken thoughts. Joshua leaned back on his hands, trying to will his blush down. Jeonghan, on the other hand, looked annoyingly pleased with himself, as if teasing was an art form only he had mastered.

“You excited for tonight?” Joshua asked finally, just to change the subject.

Jeonghan’s eyes lit up immediately. “Obviously. Ministry’s going to be chaos. It’s Freshers — it’s supposed to be.”

“I’m not really a club guy,” Joshua admitted.

Jeonghan tilted his head, studying him. “Then why are you going?”

Joshua hesitated, shrugging. “Because everyone else is. And… it might be fun. New year, new people. Might as well try.”

Jeonghan’s smile softened, less mischievous now. “Good. That’s the spirit.” Then, with a sudden wicked glint, he added, “Besides, I’ll need you to keep me in check. Someone has to make sure I don’t start unnecessary drama.”

Joshua snorted. “That’s impossible. Drama finds you like it’s magnetized.”

“And yet, you still hang out with me,” Jeonghan shot back.

Joshua didn’t answer right away, just smiled faintly, eyes on the floor.

By the time they finally decided on outfits — Jeonghan in something deliberately bold, Joshua settling for neat and understated — the sky outside had begun to darken. Jeonghan tugged his jacket on, checking his reflection one last time before turning to Joshua.

“Mingyu’s flat for pregame?”

Joshua nodded, slipping his phone into his pocket. “DK texted me earlier. Said everyone’s already there.”

“Perfect.” Jeonghan looped an arm around his shoulders as they headed for the door. “Let’s go cause a little trouble.”

Joshua rolled his eyes, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

The flat smelled faintly of aftershave, crisps, and the half-burnt toast Hoshi had managed to set off the smoke alarm with earlier. It was chaos, but the kind of chaos that was theirs — familiar, easy.

Hoshi was rifling through his wardrobe like the fate of the world depended on cotton blends. “Tell me the truth. This shirt says ‘mysterious bad boy,’ right?”

“It says ‘fifth-year econ major who peaked in high school,’” Woozi replied without looking up from his phone.

Jun cackled from his spot at the counter, tossing a grape into his mouth. “He’s not wrong.”

Hoshi gasped, clutching the shirt to his chest. “You’re all just jealous of my fashion sense.”

Wonwoo, stretched out on the sofa with a glass of water, hummed vaguely. His mind had been half elsewhere since last night, since the buzz of Mingyu’s text had lit up his screen. He wasn’t about to admit that to anyone here — especially not with Jun’s eagle eyes.

“You’re awfully quiet, Wonwoo,” Jun drawled, leaning on his elbow. “Thinking about what you’re gonna wear, or thinking about a certain someone?”

Heat crawled up Wonwoo’s neck. “I’m thinking about how annoying you are.”

Jun smirked knowingly, but let it drop. That was how he operated — push just far enough to get a reaction, then retreat before it turned into a real confession.

Hoshi spun around suddenly, pointing an accusatory finger. “Wait. What are you wearing tonight? Don’t tell me you’re just going like that.”

Wonwoo glanced down at his plain black tee and jeans. “…Yeah?”

Three voices groaned in unison.

“No way,” Hoshi declared. “That’s a funeral outfit. You’re not haunting Ministry.”

“Pretty sure that’s his plan,” Woozi muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

Wonwoo rubbed the back of his neck, caught between embarrassment and stubbornness. “It’s just a club. No one cares.”

“We care,” Hoshi insisted, already digging through his closet. “You need something with presence. Something that says, ‘Yes, I came to dance and maybe ruin lives.’”

Jun nearly spit out his grape. “That’s your motto, Hoshi. Not his.”

Hoshi ignored him, pulling out another shirt and holding it up to Wonwoo’s chest. “See? Better already.”

Wonwoo sighed but didn’t push him away. There was no point; Hoshi was relentless once he got an idea in his head. And maybe… maybe he didn’t mind the effort, the thought that his friends wanted him to look like he belonged.

Woozi glanced up briefly, catching the faint pink on Wonwoo’s ears, then quickly dropped his gaze again. “You’re all ridiculous,” he muttered. But his voice was softer than usual, lacking the usual bite.

The flat settled into its messy rhythm again — Hoshi humming nonsense songs as he changed, Jun texting his boyfriend, Woozi half-curled against the couch with a playlist running. Wonwoo let himself sink into the noise, grateful for the cover it gave.

Because underneath it all, his thoughts kept circling back to Mingyu. To the easy way he’d smiled last night, even through text. To the warmth that had lingered longer than it should have.

Jun’s voice cut through, casual but sharp: “So, you guys think we’ll even make it through Ministry without Hoshi starting a scene?”

“Define ‘scene,’” Hoshi said, emerging in a new shirt that looked almost identical to the last one.

“Avoiding getting thrown out before midnight,” Jun clarified.

Hoshi gasped, indignant. “I’m a delight in public spaces!”

“You’re a hazard,” Woozi corrected.

Wonwoo laughed under his breath, the sound surprising even himself. It felt good — the kind of laugh that loosened the knot in his chest.

Maybe that was the thing about nights like this. Beneath all the teasing and the mess, there was a thread of comfort, of belonging. Whatever the club held later — the music, the drinks, the inevitable chaos — this part was theirs.

Jun’s phone buzzed against the counter, the vibration sharp in the lull between Woozi’s playlist tracks. He glanced at the screen, thumb unlocking it without much thought. A grin tugged at his mouth.

“Minghao says we should head to Mingyu’s before Ministry,” he announced, tilting the phone so they could all see the half-effort message full of lowercase letters and no punctuation. “‘pregame at gyu’s. don’t be late. bring hoshi if you want.’”

Hoshi clutched his chest dramatically. “If you want? Excuse me?”

“Pretty generous offer if you ask me,” Woozi deadpanned, not looking up.

Jun chuckled, shoving his phone back into his pocket. “So, you heard him. We’re all going. Mingyu’s flat, then Ministry.”

“Obviously,” Hoshi said, striking a pose in his newly chosen shirt. “I was born to pregame.”

“You were born to embarrass yourself,” Woozi muttered, but there was no real venom in it.

Wonwoo took a sip of water, pretending to stay out of it, though his stomach gave a small, traitorous twist at the mention of Mingyu. 

“Fine,” Woozi sighed, finally tucking his phone away. “But if this pregame turns into another one of DK’s stand-up routines, I’m leaving.”

Hoshi gasped. “How dare you insult comedy king Dokyeom!”

“Comedy king, menace to society — same thing,” Woozi said, standing up to grab his jacket anyway.

The room shifted into motion, each of them moving with a mix of reluctance and excitement that came with nights out. 

Wonwoo lingered at the edge, fingers brushing the shirt Hoshi had forced on him. It still felt like borrowed armor, but maybe that was okay. Maybe tonight he didn’t need to overthink it.

Jun glanced back at them, a spark of amusement in his eyes. “Come on, you three. If we’re late, Minghao’s going to blame me, and I refuse to take that bullet alone.”

“Fine, fine,” Hoshi said, shoving his trainers on. “Let’s go make some bad decisions.”

“Speak for yourself,” Woozi muttered, though he was already at the door.

Wonwoo followed quietly, heart beating a little too fast for reasons he wasn’t about to admit.

The flat was in chaos, though for three people it really shouldn’t have been this messy.

Clothes were scattered across the couch, two wardrobes’ worth of outfits spilling into the living room because neither Seungkwan nor Dino could decide what to wear. Vernon sat cross-legged on the rug with his back against the coffee table, half trying to scroll on his phone, half trying not to get dragged into the storm.

“Okay,” Seungkwan announced, holding up two shirts like a contestant on a game show. “Vernon, honest answer—silk black or silk blue?”

Vernon looked up, blinking. The difference between them seemed microscopic, but on Seungkwan it would probably matter. “Uh… the black one?” he said carefully.

Seungkwan clicked his tongue and tossed the blue shirt at Dino, who barely caught it. “See? I told you black was the moment.”

Dino wrinkled his nose, tugging the shirt over his own head just to test it. “Yeah, but I look better in this color than you do.”

“You wish,” Seungkwan shot back, though his grin gave him away.

Vernon smiled faintly, watching them bicker. He wasn’t used to this level of noise—his house back home had been quiet, his mum working late most days, his sister locked away in her room. But here, with Seungkwan pacing in circles and Dino narrating everything like they were on reality TV, it felt… alive. Chaotic, yes. But alive.

And strangely comforting.

“Vernon, you’re too quiet,” Seungkwan suddenly said, turning on him like a spotlight. “What are you wearing? Don’t tell me you’re going in that hoodie.”

Vernon glanced down. It was his favorite grey hoodie, worn soft at the sleeves, paired with black jeans. “It’s… comfortable.”

“Comfortable? We’re going clubbing, not hibernating,” Seungkwan scolded, hands on his hips. “Do you even own a nice shirt?”

“I own… shirts,” Vernon said defensively.

Dino laughed so hard he fell back onto the couch. “This guy’s gonna pull up to Ministry like he’s going to math class.”

Vernon tried to glare at him but it didn’t stick. His cheeks warmed instead, especially under Seungkwan’s scrutinizing gaze. “Fine. I’ll change.” He pushed himself up reluctantly.

“Good.” Seungkwan plopped down where Vernon had been sitting, satisfied. “We can’t all look tragic in public.”

Vernon ducked into his room, heart beating faster than it should’ve. He rummaged through his small suitcase—the majority of his clothes were basics, neutral colors, nothing too loud. He hesitated, then pulled out a navy button-down he’d barely worn. It wasn’t flashy, but it felt… safer than a hoodie.

When he returned, Seungkwan raised an eyebrow. “See? That’s better. Why were you hiding that from us?”

“I wasn’t hiding it,” Vernon muttered.

“Yes, you were,” Seungkwan said, smirking. “You didn’t want us to know you can actually look good when you try.”

Vernon’s ears burned. He sat back on the rug, tugging at his collar like it was choking him. He wasn’t used to being seen this closely—not like that.

Dino clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t listen to him. You look fine. Average. Passable at best.”

Seungkwan threw a cushion at him.

Vernon’s phone buzzed. A message from Joshua lit up his screen.

joshua: yo, what time you guys heading to ministry?
vernon: not sure yet, maybe in an hour? u?
joshua: we’re at mingyu’s flat pregaming rn, but we’ll meet you there later.

Vernon read the texts twice, then relayed them aloud.

“Mingyu’s flat?” Seungkwan repeated, eyebrows arching. “Who the hell is Mingyu?”

“Some guy Joshua knows, I guess,” Vernon said with a shrug.

Seungkwan shook his head, sighing dramatically. “Well, at least he said they’ll meet us at the club. Saves us from awkward small talk with strangers.”

Vernon hummed in agreement, though part of him wondered what it would be like—going to someone else’s flat, being welcomed into the noise, the pregame rituals. But another part was relieved. Tonight, he only had to manage this: Seungkwan’s teasing, Dino’s chaos. Familiar, in its own way.

Minutes later, the three of them were crammed into the kitchen, debating food.

“I’m starving,” Dino whined, scrolling through delivery apps. “We can’t dance on empty stomachs.”

“Order fries,” Seungkwan said, leaning against the counter. “And wings. And maybe—oh, get dumplings too.”

“You’re insane,” Dino muttered, but he added them all to the cart anyway.

Vernon leaned against the fridge, half listening, half watching the two of them argue over sauces. Seungkwan’s laugh filled the kitchen, quick and bright, and Vernon caught himself smiling before he could stop it. He ducked his head, pretending to read over Dino’s shoulder.

When the food finally arrived, they sat cross-legged on the living room floor, containers spread out like a feast. Music played low from Dino’s speaker—old K-pop tracks Seungkwan insisted were superior “getting ready anthems.”

It felt almost better than the idea of the club. Warm light, good food, voices tumbling over each other. Vernon took a bite of fries, salty and perfect, and thought—maybe this was what people meant when they talked about college being the best years of your life.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Seungkwan warned, pointing a wing at him. “We’re still leaving in twenty minutes.”

Vernon just nodded, chewing slowly, hiding the small smile tugging at his mouth.

When they finally gathered their things to head out, Dino buzzing with too much energy and Seungkwan already humming some tune under his breath, Vernon trailed behind for a moment at the door. His phone buzzed again.

joshua: we’ll see you inside. don’t be late.

Vernon slipped the phone back into his pocket and pulled the door shut behind him, the sound of Seungkwan’s laughter bouncing down the hallway ahead.

And for the first time in a long while, he wasn’t nervous about what came next.

Chapter Text

The flat smelled faintly of lemon cleaner and something toasted when Mingyu padded out of his room with an armful of mismatched shot glasses. He dumped them unceremoniously onto the counter and sighed.

“Half of these don’t even match,” he muttered.

From the couch, Minghao raised an unimpressed brow. “It’s a pregame, not a Michelin restaurant.”

DK emerged from the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, carrying a bottle of vodka in one hand and two bottles of soju in the other. “Who cares if the glasses don’t match?” he said cheerfully, thumping them down. “We’ll all be too drunk to notice.”

“That’s what worries me,” Minghao deadpanned, but there was the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Mingyu set about lining up the glasses anyway, arranging them like soldiers. He glanced around their living room with a critical eye: couch cushions straightened, clutter shoved into corners, the Bluetooth speaker humming low with a playlist he’d agonized over earlier. Cozy, lived-in, but not too embarrassing.

“You know,” DK said, popping open one of the soju bottles, “I’m calling it now—Jeonghan’s gonna show up and act like he owns the place.”

“He probably will,” Minghao agreed without looking up from his phone.

Mingyu smirked. “I give it five minutes before he’s behind the counter.”

They didn’t have long to wait. A knock rattled the front door, two quick raps followed by one softer.

“Speak of the devil,” DK sang, darting over. He yanked it open with his brightest grin. “Hyung! And—oh, Shua!”

Jeonghan strolled in first, hair perfectly styled despite the cool evening breeze, Joshua trailing close behind with a polite smile.

“You cleaned,” Jeonghan remarked, immediately toeing off his shoes and giving the flat a once-over.

“See?” Mingyu muttered. “Owning the place already.”

Joshua laughed, slipping into the living room. “It looks good. Better than my flat right now.”

DK barked a laugh, waving them further inside. “Come on, drinks first. We’ve got vodka, soju, and Sprite. That’s all Mingyu would let me buy.”

“Correction,” Mingyu said, lifting a brow. “That’s all we could afford.”

Jeonghan leaned across the counter, eyeing the bottles. “It’s like college in America all over again.”

Joshua chuckled. “You didn’t even go to college in America.”

“Still counts.”

They took their time settling in. Joshua and Jeonghan claimed one end of the couch, DK and Minghao flanked the counter, and Mingyu played bartender, pouring shots into the mismatched glasses.

“To surviving Freshers’ Week,” DK declared, raising his glass.

“To Mingyu actually cleaning for once,” Minghao added dryly.

“To me, for putting up with all of you,” Jeonghan smirked.

Joshua laughed as they clinked their glasses together. The vodka burned, predictable and sharp, but it loosened the edges of the evening.

Conversation flowed easily. Joshua asked Minghao about his classes; Mingyu complained about the cost of textbooks; DK launched into a story about getting lost on campus and accidentally walking into the fencing club’s meeting.

“They thought I was there to audition,” DK said, gesturing wildly. “One of them handed me a sword.”

Jeonghan nearly spit out his drink. “Please tell me you tried.”

“Of course I tried!” DK grinned. “And I almost took someone’s ear off.”

Minghao groaned. “That explains the bruise on your arm.”

“That was a chair,” DK corrected.

Joshua shook his head, smiling. “Only you.”

It was comfortable—warm, like slipping into a rhythm that didn’t need effort. Mingyu leaned against the counter, eyes drifting to the door every now and then.

“They’re late,” he said eventually.

“They?” Joshua asked.

“Hoshi’s group,” Minghao supplied. “Jun, Woozi, Wonwoo. They said they’d be here by now.”

“Maybe they’re lost,” DK said with a shrug. “Jun probably dragged them somewhere first.”

“Or Hoshi saw something shiny,” Jeonghan added.

Joshua chuckled. “Sounds about right.”

As if on cue, another knock sounded—louder this time, rapid-fire.

“That’s them,” Mingyu said, already moving.

He swung the door open to find Hoshi bouncing in place, Jun leaning lazily against the frame, Woozi tucked deep in his hoodie, and Wonwoo hovering at the back.

“Party’s here!” Hoshi announced, arms thrown wide.

Mingyu stepped aside, shaking his head. “Took you long enough.”

“Jun got distracted,” Hoshi said immediately.

Jun rolled his eyes. “You were the one stopping for crisps.”

Woozi slipped past them both without a word, heading for the nearest corner like he’d been here a hundred times. Wonwoo followed slower, scanning the flat with careful eyes before offering Mingyu a small nod.

“Drink?” Mingyu asked him.

“Yeah,” Wonwoo said quietly.

“Shot or cup?”

“Cup,” he answered after a beat.

Mingyu poured without comment, sliding it over with an easy smile.

Meanwhile, DK was already hugging Hoshi and demanding updates, Jun had dropped onto the couch next to Joshua, and Jeonghan was watching it all with his usual catlike amusement.

“Alright,” Jeonghan said loudly, raising his glass. “Now it’s a party.”

The room seemed to swell with energy—voices overlapping, laughter louder, music turned up another notch. For all the mismatched personalities, the flat somehow held it together, warmth weaving through the chaos like thread.

And just like that, the night began.

It doesn’t take long before the inevitable words leave Jeonghan’s mouth.
“Truth or dare.”

The collective groan is drowned out by Hoshi’s cheer. “Yes! Finally, someone said it.” He grabs a cushion, hugs it to his chest like a child waiting for storytime. “I’ve been waiting.”

“Waiting to be humiliated,” Woozi mutters, curling himself deeper into the corner of the couch.

“That too,” Hoshi grins, unfazed.

The circle forms naturally: Mingyu sprawled long-limbed on the floor, DK beside him with his knees pulled up, Joshua leaning against the armrest like he’s already regretting being here. Jun and Minghao claim their own little corner on the rug, knees brushing comfortably close. Wonwoo stays at the edge of the sofa, cradling a drink in his hands like a shield.

Jeonghan, self-appointed instigator, scans the room. “Alright. Hoshi. Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Hoshi declares without hesitation, like he’s been waiting his whole life for this moment.

Jeonghan’s smirk is dangerous. “I dare you to… text the last person you searched on Instagram and tell them you’re in love with them.”

The group explodes in laughter.

Hoshi clutches his phone like it’s a weapon turned against him. “You’re evil. Actually evil.”

“Rules are rules,” Jeonghan singsongs.

“Fine, fine.” Hoshi taps furiously, then freezes, eyes flicking toward Woozi for the briefest second before darting back to his screen. “Done. Sent.”

“Who was it?” DK leans forward eagerly.

“Nope!” Hoshi snaps his phone shut and hugs it to his chest. “Private.”

Woozi scoffs. “Coward.” But the tips of his ears are faintly pink, and Wonwoo catches it.

The round moves on, chaos thickening with each turn.

Joshua picks truth, and DK immediately pounces. “Okay, who’s the last person you—” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “—kissed?”

Joshua doesn’t even flinch. “You, obviously.”

The room erupts. Hoshi practically falls off the couch howling, while Jeonghan’s jaw drops in mock betrayal. DK just grins, smug as anything, though his cheeks glow red.

“Wait—seriously?” Mingyu asks, eyes wide.

Joshua takes a calm sip of his drink. “Why do you sound surprised?”

Jun whistles low. “This game is going to end friendships.”

“Or start them,” Jeonghan mutters, side-eyeing Joshua with a grin that promises retribution.

The dares escalate quickly. Woozi is forced to stand in the hallway and serenade the neighbors with the chorus of a girl group song. Hoshi nearly dies laughing, doubled over as Woozi mutters every lyric through gritted teeth, but nobody misses the way Hoshi’s eyes linger a second too long when Woozi stomps back inside, cheeks flushed.

Minghao, when asked truth, admits without hesitation that Jun is the best kisser he’s ever had. Jun nearly chokes on his drink while the others groan in unison.

“Please,” Jeonghan begs, covering his face. “Don’t make me witness this.”

“Get used to it,” Minghao says calmly, threading his fingers with Jun’s under the table.

Then it’s Wonwoo’s turn. The circle quiets, attention swinging his way.

“Truth,” he says quickly, voice low.

Jeonghan pounces. “Who here would you most want to be stuck with during a power outage?”

It’s an innocent enough question, but Wonwoo’s throat tightens. His eyes betray him, flickering toward Mingyu before he can stop himself. He forces his gaze down to his drink. “Uh… probably Jun. He’s practical. Wouldn’t let me starve.”

“Boring answer,” Hoshi declares. “But fine.”

Mingyu chuckles softly from the floor, like he knows something Wonwoo doesn’t.

The game spirals further—drunken dares that make no sense, confessions too silly to hold weight, laughter sharp and bright in the cramped living room. Yet under it all, there are threads: the way Hoshi keeps needling Woozi just to watch him roll his eyes, the way Joshua and DK trade smirks like secrets, the way Minghao leans shamelessly against Jun’s shoulder. And the way Wonwoo keeps catching Mingyu’s gaze, warm and unhurried, until his chest feels too tight to breathe.

At one point, DK dares Joshua to sit in his lap for the next two rounds. Joshua complies without a word, sliding into place with casual ease. The room explodes again, but DK only grins wider, arms looping around Joshua’s waist as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Joshua doesn’t move.

“Unbelievable,” Jeonghan mutters, though he’s smiling. “I need stronger alcohol to deal with you people.”

The dares start overlapping, noise rising higher. Mingyu is dared to do ten pushups with Wonwoo sitting on his back. The group cheers wildly as Wonwoo, mortified, perches gingerly across Mingyu’s shoulders.

“You’re light,” Mingyu says between reps, voice steady, grin tugging at his mouth.

Wonwoo can’t breathe. “Shut up.”

The room roars with laughter when Mingyu finishes flawlessly, collapsing onto the rug and sending Wonwoo tumbling beside him. Their shoulders brush, heat spreading through the point of contact, but neither moves away.

Hoshi notices, of course—he notices everything—and smirks knowingly before turning to pester Woozi about his next dare.

Time blurs, drinks dwindling as the game winds into ridiculousness. Someone dares Jun and Minghao to swap shirts, which they do without hesitation, laughter echoing when Minghao swims in Jun’s oversized hoodie and Jun nearly rips the seams of Minghao’s fitted tee.

“Disgusting,” Jeonghan groans. “You’re insufferable.”

“They’re cute,” Joshua counters, a rare softness in his tone.

“You’re just saying that because you’re in DK’s lap,” Jeonghan shoots back.

Joshua doesn’t deny it.

The hour stretches, messy and bright, the flat thick with warmth and laughter. And beneath the chaos, small moments flicker—unspoken glances, touches that linger, jokes that carry more weight than they should. The kind of moments that settle into memory, tucked away for later.

By the time Jeonghan declares the game over, half the group is still laughing, the other half sprawled across the furniture in various stages of exhaustion.

“Enough,” he says firmly, snatching the empty bottle from the center of the circle. “If we keep going, someone’s going to end up confessing a murder or something, and I’m too pretty to be an accessory.”

The group dissolves into laughter again, but nobody argues.

The game scatters into smaller conversations, pockets of chatter drifting through the flat. Minghao tugs Jun toward the kitchen for more water, Joshua leans back against DK’s chest with a lazy smirk, and Hoshi sprawls half across Woozi’s lap despite the protests.

Wonwoo stays where he is, drink empty in his hand, Mingyu still close enough that their knees brush. He doesn’t dare move, afraid of breaking the fragile, impossible warmth curling in his chest.

The group dissolves into laughter again, but nobody argues.
The game scatters into smaller conversations, pockets of chatter drifting through the flat. Minghao tugs Jun toward the kitchen for more water, Joshua leans back against DK’s chest with a lazy smirk, and Hoshi sprawls half across Woozi’s lap despite the protests.

Wonwoo stays where he is, drink empty in his hand, Mingyu still close enough that their knees brush. He thinks about shifting, but doesn’t.

“You drink like a grandpa,” Mingyu said suddenly, nodding at his untouched cup.

Wonwoo blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You sip it slow, hold the glass all neat—” Mingyu mimicked his posture, pinky exaggeratedly sticking out. “Proper gentleman vibes.”

Wonwoo narrowed his eyes, though the corner of his mouth betrayed him. “Says the guy who spilled half his drink during that dare.”

“That was strategy,” Mingyu shot back smoothly. “Distraction technique. You laughed, didn’t you?”

“I laughed because you looked like you’d forgotten how cups work.”

Mingyu grinned, leaning in just slightly. “Still worth it, if it got you to smile.”

Wonwoo’s chest tightened, heat crawling up his neck, and he ducked his head, pretending to fidget with the rim of his glass. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” Mingyu said easily, “but I’m good at it.”

Before Wonwoo could come up with a reply, Jun and Minghao reappeared from the kitchen, bickering quietly over the water bottles in their hands. The moment broke, but the ghost of Mingyu’s grin lingered, lodged stubbornly in Wonwoo’s chest.

The chatter swelled again, stretching until Jeonghan finally glanced at his phone. “Alright, if we don’t leave soon, the line’s gonna be a nightmare.”

Groans followed, but people started moving. Jackets were pulled on, cups cleared, Minghao dragging a whining Hoshi upright.

Joshua slipped off DK’s lap, brushing his shirt down. “Oh, by the way—Vernon texted me. He and his flat are already heading to Ministry. We’ll link up with them inside.”

“Vernon?” Hoshi perked up. “Who’s that?”

“Kid from the States,” DK explained, tugging his sneakers on. “Chill guy. You’ll like him.”

“Mm, we’ll see,” Woozi muttered, zipping his jacket.

By the door, Wonwoo hesitated, waiting for the group to shuffle out first. Mingyu ended up beside him again, bumping his shoulder lightly. “Come on, grandpa,” he teased, voice low so only Wonwoo heard. “Don’t make me hold your hand across the street.”

Wonwoo rolled his eyes, but his chest was a mess of warmth. “You wish.”

And just like that, the door shut behind them, their laughter spilling out into the cool night.

Chapter Text

The lights of Ministry pulsed through the air, colored beams slicing across the crowd as the bass rattled softly through the floorboards. The group pushed past the throng of students, all of them slightly wobbling in their heels or sneakers, laughing and shoving each other as the night officially began.

DK and Hoshi led the way, already buzzing with energy from their pregame at Mingyu’s flat. Joshua followed close behind, half-laughing at DK’s dramatic hand gestures as he narrated their entrance. Wonwoo stayed a little behind, quieter, but with a small, amused smile tugging at his lips as he watched the chaos. Woozi, Jun, Minghao, and Jeonghan filled out the middle of the pack, each one teasing or nudging the others as they made their way to a slightly secluded booth along the side of the club.

The group settled into the booth, the music thumping around them like a living pulse. Hoshi leaned back with a dramatic sigh, propping one leg over the edge of the seat. “I swear, if the bass gets any louder, my chest is going to explode. But also… love it.”

DK rolled his eyes but grinned, nudging him. “You’re ridiculous. The music isn’t even that loud.”

Joshua smirked, glancing at Wonwoo, who was sipping a drink quietly. “You’re good at surviving chaos,” he said softly. “I’m impressed.”

Wonwoo tilted his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I guess… I like watching it more than being in it.”

Mingyu, who had flopped into the booth beside him, nudged his knee lightly. “Watching is fine… but joining can be fun too.” He didn’t press, just let his words hang with a faint warmth that made Wonwoo shift slightly closer, not too much, but enough.

Jeonghan waved over the waiter again, securing another round of drinks for the table. The laughter and chatter from surrounding booths barely reached them, giving the group a bubble of their own. Minghao handed Jun a small sip of his drink, and the two exchanged a quiet, teasing glance. Jun smirked, raising his glass just a little, and Minghao mirrored him.

Joshua checked his phone again. “Vernon says they’re at the entrance—queueing up now. Should be over here any second.”

“Perfect,” DK said, resting his chin on his hands. “Let’s see if Vernon can drag his crew over without being lost in the crowd.”

The group laughed quietly, a soft camaraderie forming as they nursed their drinks. Hoshi flopped more against Woozi, who rolled his eyes but didn’t push him off. 

Minutes passed. The bass continued to pulse, and the lights spun across the crowd, but the booth remained their own little corner. Vernon finally appeared at the edge of the crowd, waving. Joshua leaned forward. “Vernon! Over here!”

Vernon’s friends followed him closely behind. Joshua waved them over, and soon they were all gathered in the booth, introductions flowing smoothly.

“This is Seungkwan,” Vernon said, gesturing to the tall, confident boy beside him. “And Chan, otherwise known as Dino.”

Seungkwan offered a friendly grin, Dino gave a small wave, and the ice broke immediately. DK and Hoshi exchanged approving glances, clearly entertained by the younger boys’ energy.

“Hold on—Chan, as in the Lee Chan from the Korean dance team? Oh my gosh, I am in the presence of royalty! Autograph, please!” Hoshi exclaimed, theatrically grabbing Dino’s hands and kissing them. Woozi groaned and lightly tugged him back into his lap.

Seungkwan laughed, leaning back comfortably. “Not royalty, just… enthusiastic about dance.”

Dino rolled his eyes, smirking. “Yeah, and apparently a fan favorite online too. Don’t get too starstruck.”

DK leaned forward, eyes bright. “Online, huh? I knew there was something extra about you. I like it.” Dino gave a small, amused grin.

Vernon chuckled, shrugging. “Told you, he’s not as intimidating as he looks. Just… confident.”

Hoshi bounced on the edge of the booth, energy barely contained. “Confident is my middle name—well, not really—but seriously, Seungkwan, DK, watch out tonight. I can feel the competition.”

Seungkwan smirked, propping his elbow on the back of the booth. “Competition? Please. We’re just here to have fun. Right, Chan?”

“Right,” Dino said with a nod, calm and self-assured, though the subtle intensity in his eyes drew attention from everyone around the table.

Woozi muttered something about Hoshi’s theatrics but even he couldn’t hide the small, amused smile tugging at his lips.

Joshua leaned back against DK, eyes flicking toward Vernon and the new arrivals. “So, Chan, Seungkwan… you guys first years too?”

“Yeah,” Vernon said, nodding. “Freshers, trying to survive first week chaos.”

Jun, sitting with Minghao, grinned. “Sounds familiar.” He nudged Minghao playfully.

Hoshi leaned closer to Dino, voice low but teasing. “Seriously though… teach me some moves later? I promise I won’t embarrass you… too much.”

Dino’s smirk widened. “We’ll see about that.”

The conversation naturally broadened—small jokes, teasing, casual chatter about uni, music, random antics. Drinks were refilled; laughter merged seamlessly with the pounding bass. The group felt less like strangers, more like a single chaotic unit.

Seungkwan nudged DK. “So… you and Joshua? You two know each other well?”

DK grinned, shrugging. “Yeah, something like that. Choir, hanging out… the usual.” Joshua smirked in confirmation, raising his glass.

Hoshi, ignoring the exchange, tried coaxing Woozi into showing him a few subtle dance moves in the booth, while Dino leaned back, quietly observing the energy around him.

Vernon sat slightly apart but comfortably, the corners of his mouth tugging up. With Seungkwan and Dino near, surrounded by this chaos, he felt—unexpectedly—at ease. Safe.

Mingyu raised his glass, eyes scanning the group. “To first nights, new friends, and total chaos.”

Everyone echoed him, clinking glasses, laughter spilling into the booth and out over the crowd. The night felt endless, bright and messy, filled with the energy of everyone together.

The conversation slowly began to split into smaller pockets. DK, Hoshi, and Seungkwan leaned closer, discussing ridiculous dance moves and challenge ideas. Dino chimed in, showing off a subtle but fluid hand movement that drew impressed murmurs from Hoshi. 

Hoshi snorted. “You call that a move? Watch this.” He launched into a sequence of spins and shoulder isolations that had everyone leaning forward, mouths slightly open.

Then Dino, barely flinching, slid out from the booth and demonstrated a short combination that was precise, fluid, and sharp. Hoshi froze mid-spin, eyes wide. DK stopped flailing, jaw slightly slack. “Wait… WHAT?”

The booth erupted in laughter and exclamations. Vernon and Joshua just shook their heads with wry smiles—they’d seen clips online, so they weren’t entirely shocked, but the precision and fluidity still impressed them. Seungkwan clapped, genuinely impressed.

The next few minutes dissolved into playful challenges. Hoshi tried to show off again, DK and Seungkwan countered, and Dino calmly but clearly outshone them. The energy was chaotic, contagious.

Meanwhile, Woozi leaned back, observing quietly, occasionally exchanging a smirk with Wonwoo. The latter was sipping slowly, absorbing the energy around him. It was loud, wild, and messy—but in a way that made him feel part of something larger than himself.

Joshua and Mingyu had slid closer to Jeonghan, talking quietly about random uni frustrations, while sipping their drinks and laughing at inside jokes. Jun and Minghao were leaning against each other, nudging and whispering occasionally, their easy, comfortable presence drawing quiet smiles from Woozi.

The chatter and laughter of the booth barely registered when Scoups walked in, a calm but unmistakable presence cutting through the chaotic energy of Ministry. His height and easy confidence immediately drew eyes, and even through the dim lights, the way he carried himself had an almost magnetic pull.

“Finally!” Joshua called out, raising his voice above the music. “Scoups is here!”

Heads turned. DK leapt to his feet, eyes practically sparkling. “About time, man! You’re killing the vibe sitting at home!”

Hoshi, who had been mid-spin in an exaggerated dance, froze and gave a theatrical bow. “Our fearless leader returns!”

Scoups chuckled, running a hand through his hair, already amused by the small, chaotic army waiting for him. “Guess I had to make an entrance, huh?” His eyes flicked over the group, and his grin widened. “Looks like you lot are doing a good job keeping yourselves… entertained.”

Jeonghan looked up, a playful smirk on his face, and tugged him close, pressing a quick kiss to Scoups’ lips. “Missed you, babe.”

Scoups smiled into the kiss, shaking his head as he wrapped an arm around Jeonghan’s waist. “Missed you too,” he murmured, pressing a quick, playful peck to Jeonghan’s forehead. The group around them erupted into teasing whistles and laughter, but Scoups and Jeonghan barely noticed, caught up in their own little moment.

Scoups laughed, clapping his hands once. “Alright! Enough sitting! Let’s move this party to the dance floor. Everyone, up!”

DK and Hoshi immediately jumped, dragging Joshua and Woozi with them. Jun shot a playful look at Minghao. “You coming, or are we leaving you behind?”

Minghao grinned, taking Jun’s hand. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

The group surged forward, laughter and cheers blending with the music, weaving around the throngs of other students at Ministry. Scoups led the charge, hand gestures here and there, encouraging small cheers and claps, and everyone followed willingly, almost instinctively.

Vernon felt a pulse of adrenaline as they reached the edge of the dance floor. The lights reflected off sweaty bodies, drinks glinting in the colored beams, and the bass made his chest thrum. He stayed close to Seungkwan, who gave him a reassuring nudge. “It’s fine,” Seungkwan said, grinning. “Just go with it.”

DK immediately challenged Seungkwan to a mock-off, hopping into the center with Hoshi yelling encouragement from the side. “Show us what you’ve got! Don’t hold back!”

Seungkwan countered with a playful spin, tossing his head back dramatically, and DK followed with a ridiculous shimmy, arms flailing in perfect chaotic exaggeration. Hoshi howled with laughter before stepping in, demonstrating a quick footwork sequence that had DK stumbling, hands in the air.

And then Dino slid forward, fluid and sharp, every movement controlled yet explosive. The dance floor practically tilted in his favor; the others froze mid-motion, impressed.

Vernon felt himself relax fully, letting the music guide him. He copied a few simple moves from Seungkwan, smiled at Dino’s amused glance, and even tried a small spin he had no business attempting—laughing when he stumbled, Seungkwan catching him mid-laugh. The floor felt alive beneath them, every beat a pulse in the chest.

Joshua and DK, somewhere between spinning each other and mock battles, laughed until their ribs hurt. Mingyu clapped along, shouting encouragement, though mostly teasing Joshua about his “style.” Jun and Minghao snuck glances at each other, quietly laughing, occasionally joining in the sillier movements.

Scoups leaned against the bar, watching them with a small, fond smile. He knew this would be the night they’d talk about for weeks—the night Ministry felt like theirs, wild and loud, chaotic yet familiar.

And as the lights pulsed across their sweaty, laughing faces, everyone felt the same: intoxicated not just on drinks, but on the energy of being together.

The night shifted later and the bass thumped harder as the DJ shifted into a heavier set, the lights bouncing across the crowd and painting everything in deep blues and reds. The air in Ministry was warm, humid with bodies pressed together, sweat and perfume mingling, and the group from the booth slowly melted into the crowd, drinks in hand. The alcohol was loosening limbs and inhibitions alike; laughter was louder, touches lingered longer, and the world outside the club felt miles away.

Jun and Minghao found each other almost instinctively, arms brushing as they wove between bodies. Jun leaned in close, voice low and teasing over the music. “You think you can keep up with me tonight?” Minghao smirked, catching his gaze, his fingers trailing down Jun’s back. “Try me.” 

Jun’s breath hitched as Minghao’s lips found his in a slow, teasing kiss - their lips carrying the faint tang of the cocktails they’d been sipping. Jun pressed him closer, kissing him more passionately, sucking on his lower lip, until they hurt like a bruise.

Minghao ran his fingers down Jun’s body slowly, exploring. He circled his arms around his neck before moving down to his collarbones, then further down, grazing lightly across his nipples and positioning them finally on Jun’s abs. He teased - his fingertips slipping under his shirt, rubbing circles on his waist and lower - gripping his hips and pulling him flush against Minghao’s crotch.

 A small moan escaped Jun’s lips and he felt the alcohol in his system fuzz his brain and all he felt was heat and passion. They danced even more passionately, grinding on each other, pulling each other closer than humanely possible until they were gasping for air.

“Bathroom?” Jun asks, panting against Minghao’s lips.

“Fuck yes,” he gasps, pulling Jun’s hand towards the other side of the club.

The club’s bass thumped against their chests, bodies swaying in time to the music, the air heavy with the scent of alcohol and perfume. DK pressed closer to Joshua, feeling the heat of him against his own body, the warmth amplified by the slight buzz of liquor running through their veins. His fingers traced a teasing line along Joshua’s side, brushing lightly over his ribs, while Joshua leaned in instinctively, lips brushing the shell of DK’s ear.

“You’re quiet tonight,” DK murmured, voice low, rough from the drink and the heat of the dance floor. His hand slid lower, resting near Joshua’s hip, pressing slightly as if testing his boundaries. “Thought you’d be the one causing trouble.”

Joshua laughed softly, a sound that was almost drowned by the music but full of something unspoken. “Maybe I just like watching you,” he teased, fingers brushing against DK’s arm in return. But his heart was thudding for a different reason entirely; there was tension in the press of DK’s body, a familiar ache that never went away.

DK tilted his head, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Watching me, huh?” he murmured, leaning closer so their foreheads nearly touched. His hand drifted along Joshua’s spine, grazing under his shirt, fingers curling in small circles. “Or wishing you were doing more than just watching?”

Joshua’s stomach twisted, drunk and vulnerable and entirely too aware of the closeness between them. “Maybe a little of both,” he admitted, breath hitching. Their eyes met, and in that glance, the world narrowed until nothing existed outside the press of their bodies and the thrum of the music.

DK’s grin faltered slightly, and for a moment, vulnerability flashed in his eyes. “Joshua… do you ever… think about what it would be like if this wasn’t just… us sneaking around? If people knew? Or if we… were serious?”

The words hit Joshua harder than he expected. He’d felt this tension before, in the quiet moments or the stolen touches, but hearing it out loud made it real. His fingers clenched against DK’s arms. “You… you want that?” he asked cautiously, voice almost drowned by the music.

DK’s jaw tightened, eyes dark. “I don’t know. I just… I don’t want to hide this from anyone. From you, from me. I hate pretending that this… what we have… isn’t something that could mean more.”

Joshua’s heart twisted painfully. He could feel the heat of DK’s gaze, the sincerity in his tone, but he knew the truth too well. “I can’t, DK,” he said, shaking his head. “I can’t give you that. I like you too much to mess it up. To ruin… us.”

DK blinked, frustration flickering across his face. “Us?” he asked sharply. “Us? You call this ‘us’?” His voice had gone quieter, almost pleading. “I don’t want to just be a thing you sneak away from. I want… more. At least for me, I do.”

Joshua swallowed hard, feeling the weight of alcohol and emotion press against him. “I know,” he whispered, his fingers brushing over DK’s jaw. “I like you. I care about you. But… I can’t be more than this. I can’t risk it.”

DK’s eyes darkened, a flash of hurt passing over his features. “So what? That’s it? Just… sneaking around, pretending it’s nothing?” His hand gripped Joshua’s arm, fingers digging in slightly, desperate for some acknowledgment that Joshua understood.

“I understand,” Joshua said softly, voice trembling slightly. “I get it, DK. I really do. But I can’t. You know I can’t.”

For a long moment, they pressed together in silence, the music thumping around them, bodies still connected but hearts tense. DK’s fingers traced tiny, absent-minded patterns along Joshua’s back, thumb brushing over the curve of his spine as if trying to memorize the feel of him.

Finally, DK pulled back just enough to look into Joshua’s eyes, the hurt and desire raw in his gaze. “I don’t want to just be this. I don’t want to pretend it’s enough when it’s not.”

Joshua’s chest tightened. “I know,” he murmured, leaning closer, pressing their foreheads together. “And I wish it could be, believe me. But we need to stay… like this. For now. Before it all falls apart.”

DK’s lips pressed briefly to Joshua’s temple, a whisper of a kiss that was more than gentle, less than a declaration. “Maybe for now,” he said, voice low and heavy. “But I don’t know how long I can wait, Joshua.”

Joshua closed his eyes, heart hammering. He could feel the tension, the aching desire, the intoxication of both alcohol and unspoken emotion. “I… don’t know either,” he admitted quietly. “But… we survive this. Somehow.”

DK let out a slow, frustrated sigh, hands slipping from Joshua’s body reluctantly. “Yeah,” he muttered, stepping back. “For now.”

Joshua watched him walk away, stomach twisting, knowing that the dance floor, the music, the fleeting closeness—they were all temporary. But the ache in his chest, the fire of wanting DK, was permanent.

Regret gnawed at him—regret for letting himself hope, for allowing even a flicker of something more than what they had. He had known from the start that this was just a physical arrangement, a temporary escape, a “what works for now” kind of deal. And yet, seeing DK move away, so deliberately detached, made his stomach twist with a sharp, unwelcome ache.

Joshua’s hands clenched at his sides, restless, unsure what to do with the heat and frustration pooling inside him. Part of him wanted to call DK back, to beg him to stay, to insist that maybe, just maybe, they could try something different. But he knew the moment he spoke, all the careful boundaries they’d set would shatter, and he wasn’t ready for the fallout—or the honesty.

A bitter part of him blamed himself. For leaning in too close, for letting desire blur the lines, for feeling something he wasn’t supposed to feel. And another part, quieter, mourned the impossibility of it—how wanting more from DK was like chasing smoke, beautiful but always slipping through his fingers.

He watched the space DK had left behind, the absence more tangible than the people dancing around him, and felt a sharp pang of longing he didn’t have the right to indulge. This was the consequence of their choices—the mix of pleasure and frustration, closeness and distance—and he was painfully aware that he had no one to blame but himself.

Joshua exhaled shakily, pressing a hand against his chest as if to contain the storm of feelings raging inside. He’d survive, he always did. But the hollow ache, the flicker of what could never be, lingered stubbornly, a reminder that some things—no matter how intoxicating—weren’t meant to last.

The lights of Ministry cut through the fog of alcohol and sweat, colored beams slicing across the crowd like liquid fire. Wonwoo perched at the edge of the booth, nursing a lukewarm drink that tasted more bitter than strong. Woozi lounged beside him, relaxed, content, like he belonged nowhere else. Wonwoo, on the other hand, felt the weight of the room pressing down on him—the heat, the smell of perfume and sweat, the laughter—but mostly, it was the feeling that he didn’t belong anywhere near the center of it.

His eyes kept drifting to the dance floor, and there he was. Mingyu, moving with that careless, magnetic confidence that made Wonwoo’s chest tighten until it hurt. Every turn, every casual brush of shoulder and hand against others, was a reminder that Mingyu existed entirely in a world Wonwoo didn’t usually inhabit—effortless, magnetic, and just out of reach.

And then she appeared—a girl stepping confidently into his orbit. Mingyu’s attention shifted, subtle but unmistakable, and they started moving together. At first, it was light contact, shoulders brushing, hands occasionally finding each other as if in rhythm. Wonwoo’s chest twisted, a bitter ache spreading through him that was equal parts jealousy and longing.

He watched, almost frozen, as Mingyu’s hand slid along her waist, pulling her just a touch closer. Their laughter mixed with the music, easy and effortless, and Wonwoo felt the sharp sting of impossibility cut deeper. Mingyu leaned in, and their foreheads touched briefly, just for a second that stretched into eternity for Wonwoo. His fingers itched to reach out, to stop the scene, but he knew it would accomplish nothing.

The music shifted, a slower, heavier beat, and suddenly their movements became more intimate. Mingyu pressed his hips closer, guiding her with subtle but deliberate touches. They spun, dipped, and turned, bodies in perfect, fluid sync. The girl laughed against his shoulder, and Mingyu’s lips found hers—soft at first, teasing, testing boundaries.

Wonwoo’s stomach sank. The sight, the sounds, the effortless closeness—he felt every ounce of it like a physical blow. He pressed his palms into his eyes briefly, trying to stop the nausea of longing, but it was impossible. He peeked through his fingers just in time to see Mingyu deepen the kiss, tilting the girl back slightly, hands roaming her waist. The intimacy, the ease, the way Mingyu smiled against her lips—it was everything Wonwoo wanted and could never have.

He felt a hot weight settle in his chest, constricting, and his throat went dry. He hated himself for feeling like this, hated how stupid it was to let his imagination convince him Mingyu could ever look at him that way. The hope that had fluttered in his chest over the past weeks felt like it had been ripped out in one merciless tug.

“Wonwoo.”

The voice was soft, almost a whisper, but it broke through the daze that had overtaken him. Woozi’s hand rested on his shoulder, grounding him. Wonwoo didn’t turn immediately, too focused on the scene playing out on the dance floor.

“Yeah?” he murmured, voice tight, barely audible over the music.

“Let’s go,” Woozi said gently, his eyes flicking to Mingyu and the girl, noting the kiss, the ease, the way Wonwoo’s gaze lingered far too long. His grip on Wonwoo’s shoulder tightened just slightly, firm but kind.

Wonwoo swallowed hard, nodding, a lump forming in his throat. “Yeah… okay,” he whispered, voice breaking slightly despite his best effort to steady it. His chest ached, tight and heavy, and he felt an unfamiliar sting behind his eyes.

As he allowed Woozi to guide him away, he stole one last glance. Mingyu’s head tilted back, laughing against the girl’s lips, completely unaware of the storm in Wonwoo’s chest. His lips parted in a small, quiet gasp that was almost a sob, and Wonwoo clenched his fists at his sides, trying to swallow the unbearable mix of longing, envy, and regret that churned inside him.

Every step toward the booth felt like walking through quicksand, every beat of the music a cruel reminder of what he could never reach. The warmth of Woozi’s presence was grounding, but it could not erase the ache. His mind raced with questions, accusations, and the painful acknowledgment that his feelings were entirely one-sided.

By the time they reached the edge of the booth, Woozi’s hand still lightly rested on his shoulder, an anchor he didn’t quite deserve. Wonwoo’s lips trembled as he exhaled shakily, trying to steady himself.

“Thanks,” he murmured, barely above the music, voice rough with unshed tears.

“Anytime,” Woozi replied softly, eyes steady, understanding, and patient. “Come on, let’s get out of this corner before you start a meltdown.”

Wonwoo gave a short, humorless laugh, pressing a hand to his chest. “Yeah… let’s go.” He swallowed again, blinking rapidly, the heat of tears threatening to spill, and let himself be guided away. Each step was heavy, but he knew he had to leave the scene behind. The sight of Mingyu, laughing and kissing another, burned in his chest, a cruel, impossible longing he couldn’t shake.

The lights of Ministry splashed across the club, beams of color slicing through the haze as the bass thumped in time with every heartbeat. Vernon moved with Seungkwan, careful and hesitant at first, letting the older boy guide him through the crowd. Every brush of skin against skin sent sparks crawling up his spine. He couldn’t help noticing how natural Seungkwan looked—confident, easy, every movement flowing like he belonged there. Vernon, in contrast, felt stiff, aware of every breath and heartbeat.

“Relax,” Seungkwan murmured, his hand brushing Vernon’s back. “Just move with me. Feel it.”

Vernon’s stomach fluttered. Move with him… feel it. The words felt so simple, yet impossible. His limbs tensed with every accidental touch, every graze of Seungkwan’s hand. Vernon’s chest tightened; his thoughts spun faster than the lights above, trying to rationalize the heat pooling in his stomach and the way his pulse thrummed in his ears.

They danced like that for a few minutes, Seungkwan close enough to feel each other’s warmth, yet still giving Vernon space to breathe. Vernon caught the faint scent of Seungkwan—cologne mixed with sweat—and felt a flush of heat rise to his cheeks. Every time Seungkwan’s hand lingered just a fraction too long on his back, Vernon’s pulse jumped.

“You’re too stiff,” Seungkwan teased, leaning close, his voice a whisper over the music. Vernon’s lips twitched into a small, nervous smile. “I-I’m trying,” he admitted.

Seungkwan smiled, his eyes softening as he studied Vernon’s face. “I can see that,” he said, letting his hand rest lightly on Vernon’s side. “Just… don’t overthink it.”

Vernon wanted to say something, anything, but the words caught in his throat. He could feel the heat pooling in his stomach, a mixture of fear, desire, and confusion. The club around them faded; all that existed was Seungkwan’s hand, the press of his body, and the rhythm that seemed to match Vernon’s erratic heartbeat.

Minutes stretched. Vernon found himself inching closer, drawn by Seungkwan’s warmth, by the way he moved with such confidence. The subtle touches, the light grazing of fingers, the shared laughter over clumsy steps—it all built into a tension that Vernon couldn’t ignore.

Seungkwan tilted his head, letting his fingers brush against Vernon’s hand. “Hey… look at me,” he said softly. Vernon obeyed, eyes meeting Seungkwan’s, and for a moment, everything went still. Vernon’s chest felt tight, his mind spinning, every instinct telling him to run yet his body rooted him to the spot.

The music throbbed around them, but Vernon barely noticed it. His world narrowed to the dark intensity in Seungkwan’s eyes, the gentle press of his hand, the warmth radiating from his body. Vernon wanted to speak, to move closer, but fear and anticipation held him in place.

Seungkwan’s thumb traced small, invisible patterns on Vernon’s wrist, and the older boy leaned just a fraction closer, testing boundaries without breaking them. Vernon’s stomach flipped; his mind screamed at him to pull back, but his body betrayed him, drawn to the nearness, to the touch, to the possibility lingering in the space between them.

The kiss didn’t come immediately. Instead, it was the brush of lips against the side of Vernon’s face, a teasing graze near his ear, a warm breath against his neck. Vernon froze, heart hammering, every nerve alight. His eyes widened, and his chest constricted with a mix of panic and longing.

“Vernon…” Seungkwan murmured, barely audible, his voice a trembling thread over the music. “If… if you want—”

Vernon couldn’t respond. He could only stand there, feeling, burning, drowning in sensations he hadn’t expected, didn’t know how to name. The gentle, teasing closeness continued, and Vernon’s resolve wavered, caught between wanting to pull back and needing to be closer.

Then, finally, when the tension reached a fever pitch, Seungkwan leaned in fully, pressing their lips together in a slow, deliberate kiss. Vernon froze entirely, overwhelmed, unsure if he should respond, if he could respond. The world narrowed to the press of lips, the heat of breath, the intoxicating nearness.

Seungkwan pulled back slightly, searching Vernon’s face. “Vern—” he started, panic creeping into his voice, “I—I didn’t mean—if—if it’s too much—”

Vernon stayed frozen, silent, his mind a chaotic swirl of emotions. He wanted to say something, anything, but his throat was dry, his body paralyzed by the intensity of what just happened. He couldn’t even breathe properly.

Seungkwan’s panic grew. “Shit, I—oh god, I messed up, didn’t I?” His hands dropped to his sides, and he looked genuinely afraid that he had crossed a line.

Before Vernon could respond, Seungkwan stepped back and pushed through the crowd, disappearing into the flashing lights. Vernon remained rooted to the spot, chest tight, stomach knotted, and eyes following the space where Seungkwan had vanished.

His mind reeled. 

He kissed me… and ran.
Did he regret it?
Do I regret it?

Vernon’s chest ached with every passing second, a mix of longing and confusion, of desire and panic. He wanted to follow, wanted to reach out, but he stayed where he was, feeling small and stranded in the middle of the club.

Minutes passed, the music pounding through him, yet he felt nothing of the beat. Every flash of color, every thump of bass, every sway of the crowd felt distant, secondary to the storm inside him. His thoughts looped endlessly: Seungkwan’s touch, Seungkwan’s lips, the panic in his eyes, the way he ran.

Finally, Vernon sank onto a nearby bench, head in his hands, the taste of bitter alcohol lingering on his tongue. The warmth of the club did nothing to soothe him. He felt raw, exposed, vulnerable. And he hated himself for feeling so much for someone who clearly didn’t—or couldn’t—feel the same way.

He sat there, replaying the kiss, the closeness, the panic, over and over in his mind, each time feeling the sharp edge of longing and loss cut a little deeper. He felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes, though he refused to let them fall. He couldn’t let anyone see him like this.

Around him, the club roared, bodies swaying, people laughing and shouting, but Vernon was lost in his own storm, aching with the sudden, cruel awareness of what he wanted and what he couldn’t have.

And he stayed there, frozen, as the night stretched on, longing and regret entwined, until the music blurred into a background hum and the rest of the world became distant.

Chapter Text

The flat was thick with silence.

Not the calm kind—the kind that pressed down, weighted and oppressive, broken only by the faint tick of plumbing in the walls or the shuffle of someone rolling over in another room. The kind that came after hours of music that shook bones and neon lights that burned holes behind eyelids.

Wonwoo lay flat on his back in bed, eyes open but unfocused, staring at the sharp rectangles of light carved across his ceiling by the blinds. His head pounded. His mouth was dry. Every muscle in his body screamed for water, rest, oblivion—anything but this.

But none of it compared to the weight sitting in his chest.

Images flickered behind his eyes whenever he blinked: the sticky floor of the club, the smell of sweat and alcohol, the bass thrumming so deep it felt like another heartbeat. And always, always the same picture cutting through it all—Mingyu in the center of the room, tall and untouchable, moving like the music was made for him.

For too long Wonwoo just watched him last night, nursing his drink at the edge of the booth. He’d told himself he was just zoning out, that he wasn’t staring. But every time Mingyu laughed, every time his shoulders rolled to the rhythm, Wonwoo’s chest tightened, that same stupid warmth sparking.

And then she appeared.

The girl slid into the space beside Mingyu as if she’d been meant to all along. She moved with him like she’d done it before, her hands brushing his chest, his hips. And when Mingyu didn’t push her away—when instead he leaned closer, pressed his mouth to hers in a messy, unthinking kiss—something in Wonwoo cracked.

Even now, hours later, the image was etched in painful clarity. Her hands in Mingyu’s hair. Mingyu’s palm splayed over her back. Their mouths pressed together like it was nothing, like he hadn’t been—like there hadn’t been—

Wonwoo squeezed his eyes shut, a shaky breath leaving him. His hand curled into the sheets beside him until his knuckles ached.

You’re an idiot.

He should’ve known better. Mingyu was Mingyu: charming, easy, magnetic. Girls—and guys—flocked to him. Of course he wasn’t waiting around for someone like Wonwoo, who could barely manage to look him in the eye without his throat closing.

Stupid. Stupid for even thinking.

He rolled onto his side, curling toward the wall. His stomach twisted, the alcohol from last night turning sour with the taste of regret. He wanted to forget, to bury it, to make it mean nothing. But every time he tried, it all came back sharper, cutting into him again.

The flat creaked around him, quiet footsteps muffled by carpet. He stayed still, praying whoever it was would pass by, leave him to drown in the weight of his thoughts. But the footsteps slowed outside his room, then the door creaked open.

“Figures.”

Woozi’s voice was rough, sleep-heavy, carrying no judgment—just fact. Wonwoo didn’t move, though his eyes flicked toward the doorway where Woozi leaned, hair sticking out in every direction, drowning in an oversized hoodie.

Without asking, Woozi padded across the floor and flopped onto the mattress beside him, groaning as the springs squeaked under the added weight. He sprawled half on top of the blanket, arms tucked under his head, eyes on the ceiling.

They lay like that for a long while, the silence between them filled only by the distant hum of traffic outside, the occasional plumbing groan.

Finally, Woozi sighed, his voice breaking the stillness. “You okay, Won?”

The question was simple, but the sincerity in it nearly undid him. Wonwoo’s throat tightened, his chest constricting with the sudden urge to crawl into Woozi’s arms and sob until nothing was left. But of course, he didn’t. He never did.

“I mean… my head hurts like hell, and I can’t feel anything. Other than that, I’m swell.” His laugh was brittle, cracking halfway out of his mouth.

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it,” Woozi said. His tone wasn’t sharp, but it cut anyway.

Wonwoo’s eyes slipped away, fixing on the ceiling, the wall, anywhere but Woozi’s face. The silence pressed against him, thick and suffocating. He wanted to disappear into it, but Woozi just lay there, waiting. Always waiting.

Finally, Wonwoo muttered, barely above a whisper, “…I don’t know anymore.”

Woozi turned onto his side, watching him carefully. “You do know. You just don’t want to say it out loud.”

The words struck too close. Wonwoo’s jaw clenched. His chest ached with everything he couldn’t name.

“I just…” His voice broke, and he swallowed hard. “I feel stupid. Like I built all this up in my head. Like I imagined every look, every laugh, every time he stood too close. I thought maybe—” He stopped, the weight of the word maybe dragging him under. “I thought maybe I had a chance.”

Woozi stayed quiet, letting the confession hang heavy between them. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady, not unkind. “And now you’ve seen it. He’s not thinking about you, Won. He’s not holding back because of fear or confusion. He’s just… living his life. And you’re the one stuck watching.”

The truth landed like glass shattering in his chest. Wonwoo blinked hard, but the sting behind his eyes only worsened.

“I know,” he whispered. “God, I know. But knowing doesn’t make it hurt any less. It’s like… like I can’t turn it off. Even if I want to.”

Woozi shifted closer, their shoulders brushing, the contact grounding but unbearably gentle. “You don’t have to turn it off overnight. You just… can’t let yourself drown in it either. If you stay here—” he paused, gesturing vaguely, “—stuck in what-ifs, it’ll eat you alive.”

Wonwoo’s breath shuddered. He turned his face toward Woozi finally, eyes glassy, his voice barely holding together. “Then what do I do?”

Woozi held his gaze, calm and unflinching. “You get up tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that. You let yourself feel shitty, but you don’t stay in it forever. And eventually…” He hesitated, his tone softening. “Eventually, someone will look at you the way you wanted him to. And it’ll make sense. And it won’t feel like this.”

Wonwoo bit down on his lip, trying and failing to keep it together. A choked laugh escaped instead, bitter and fragile. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” Woozi said firmly. “But it’s possible.”

They lay there in silence after that, the weight of everything unsaid filling the room. Woozi didn’t push further, didn’t offer false promises. He just stayed. Shoulder to shoulder. Solid and present.

And for Wonwoo, that was both a comfort and a curse. Because part of him still wished it was Mingyu lying there instead.

The morning after, DK woke up with a mouth that tasted like old liquor and a stomach that churned with something heavier than just the alcohol. His head ached, sure — but that wasn’t what made him roll over and bury his face into the pillow, trying to block out the grey light leaking through the blinds.

It was Joshua. Always Joshua.

The conversation from last night replayed in fragments. The way Joshua had pulled back. The way he had spoken like every word was wrapped in careful ribbon, polite and neat, but sharp enough to cut. “We can’t be more than this.” The phrase stuck in his ears like static.

DK sat up slowly, elbows digging into his knees, palms pressed against his face. His hands were clammy, heavy. He wanted to scream — but all that came out was a shaky exhale, long and quiet.

He didn’t even know why he was so surprised. Joshua had always been careful. Always restrained, always building walls DK wasn’t allowed to climb. But DK — he wasn’t built for walls. He was built for crashing through, for grabbing on, for making noise until someone finally listened.

And Joshua… Joshua made him quiet.

The memory of Joshua’s body pressed against his on the dance floor, the way their mouths had fit together, the way Joshua’s fingers clutched at him like he didn’t want to let go — it had felt real. Too real. It made last night’s rejection sting even worse, like the universe had handed him something golden only to snatch it away.

He dragged himself to the sink and splashed cold water over his face. In the mirror, he looked older somehow, his eyes darker than they had been just yesterday. His reflection looked like someone who’d lost. And he hated it.

Maybe Joshua was right. Maybe he had been an idiot, imagining something that wasn’t there. Friends with benefits. That was the deal. Joshua had said it himself. And DK had nodded along, smiling, pretending it was enough. Pretending he didn’t crave more.

But it wasn’t enough. Not anymore.

His chest ached with it — the unfairness of knowing Joshua wanted him, but not enough to claim him. Not enough to risk it. Not enough to love him back.

“Fuck,” DK muttered to himself, gripping the counter until his knuckles blanched.

He sank back onto his bed, phone in hand, thumb hovering over Joshua’s name in his messages. He wanted to type something — anything. Are you okay? Did you mean it? Can we talk? The words itched under his skin, begging to come out.

But he didn’t send them. He knew Joshua’s answer already. He knew silence would be kinder than another rejection.

So he dropped the phone onto his chest and lay there, staring at the ceiling.

The room was spinning faintly, whether from the hangover or the heartbreak, he couldn’t tell. But his mind wouldn’t shut up. It kept circling back to Joshua’s lips, Joshua’s voice, Joshua’s refusal.

And the worst part — the part that made DK’s throat tighten and his chest cave — was that even now, even after everything, he still wanted him.

More than ever.

Mingyu woke to the sound of his own heartbeat slamming in his skull. The taste of stale vodka lingered on his tongue, metallic and sour, and his stomach turned before he even managed to sit up. He pressed the heel of his hand into his eye sockets, groaning, the kind of groan that came from deeper than his throat.

He hated mornings like this.

The sheets were twisted around his hips, the air sticky, the blinds doing a terrible job of keeping out the light. His body ached, but it was the hollow ache — the kind that came after too much alcohol, too much pretending, too much of everything. His muscles still felt strong, primed, but his chest was heavy, like someone had filled him with wet cement while he slept.

He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floorboards until the room stopped spinning. Images from the night before slipped in like broken film reels: lights blurring overhead, his friends’ laughter ringing, the bass thrumming through the soles of his shoes. Arms around him. Lips against his. A laugh in his ear from someone whose name he couldn’t even recall.

It was supposed to be fun. It always was. That was the script — Mingyu, life of the party, the one who could drink anyone under the table, who danced with anyone, who never left alone if he didn’t want to.

So why did it all feel so sour in his mouth now?

Dragging himself to the bathroom, he splashed cold water over his face, gripping the sink until his knuckles turned white. The mirror was unkind — bloodshot eyes, lips still a little swollen, hair matted from too many bodies pressing against him. He looked used. Like a stranger had worn his skin overnight and left him to deal with the fallout.

He exhaled sharply, reaching for his toothbrush like it could scrub the taste of last night off his tongue. But no matter how hard he brushed, the bitterness stayed.

Back in his room, he fell onto the bed again, staring at the ceiling. His phone buzzed with notifications — group chat messages, blurry photos from last night, inside jokes he couldn’t bring himself to laugh at. He tossed it aside.

The truth was brutal: Mingyu was tired. Tired in a way no amount of sleep could fix.

He thought of the girl who had leaned into him, her perfume cloying, her lips insistent. It wasn’t bad — not really. She was pretty. She was eager. But the whole time, Mingyu had felt detached, like he was watching it happen to someone else. Going through the motions because that’s what was expected of him. Because people liked to say he was good at this — the charm, the confidence, the heat of the moment.

But afterwards? Afterward he felt hollow. Always hollow.

He hated how easily people assumed he wanted it. That he wanted them. That he was just some endless well of energy and appetite. Maybe he had leaned into it too much, let himself play that role until it became second skin. But sometimes, when he really stopped to think about it — like now, hungover and raw — he wondered if anyone saw him at all, past the easy grin and the broad shoulders and the stupid reputation.

What if he was just something to use?

He scrubbed his hands over his face again, fighting the urge to scream into his pillow. He wasn’t innocent either. He knew that. He took people as they came, no promises, no strings. That’s what made it easier. Safer. He got the rush, the closeness, the distraction — and then he left before it could mean anything.

But the guilt was creeping in lately. Every face he didn’t remember. Every number he never saved. Every kiss he never thought twice about. He wasn’t just burning through nights — he was burning through people.

And the emptiness was catching up.

His phone buzzed again, another photo. Him in the middle of the group, drink in hand, smile so wide it looked convincing. If you didn’t know him, you’d think he was thriving. That he was untouchable, golden.

But Mingyu knew better. That smile was a mask. And every time he put it on, it got harder to take it off.

He lay back, pressing the pillow over his face. For once, he wanted to be quiet. To not perform. To not keep filling the silence with bodies and music and alcohol.

But silence was terrifying too.

Because in the quiet, there was nothing to distract him from himself. Nothing to drown out the question that pulsed, steady and sharp, at the back of his skull:

What if this is all I am?

The boy everyone laughs with. The boy everyone wants to touch. The boy who gives and gives until there’s nothing left when the music stops.

And the boy who wakes up alone, every single time.

Mingyu’s chest tightened, a dull ache settling under his ribs. He thought maybe he deserved it. Maybe this was the cost of living like this — of keeping everything at arm’s length, of never letting anyone see past the surface.

But he was so fucking tired.

Wonwoo

Mingyu:

01:16 hey where r u?

01:16 did u leave already??

01:19 tried looking but cant find u

01:23 text me when ur back safe yh?

11:28 morning, u feeling ok?

11:30 lmk 

Chapter Text

The knock came just as Seungkwan had pulled the blanket over his head and decided, definitively, that he was never leaving his bed again.

“Hyung?” A pause. Another knock, more insistent. “I know you’re awake.”

Seungkwan groaned into his pillow. “Go away, Chan.”

The door creaked anyway, and in came Dino, hoodie half-zipped and hair sticking up like he’d wrestled with the pillow and lost. He looked far too alive for someone who’d drunk as much as the rest of them.

“You’re so dramatic,” Chan said, closing the door behind him. “It’s barely noon.”

“Barely noon is still morning,” Seungkwan shot back, voice muffled under the blanket. “And mornings were invented by people who hate fun.”

Chan snorted, making himself comfortable by plopping down on the edge of the bed. “You sound like Woozi hyung. You two should start a club. ‘Grumpy Hungover People Anonymous.’”

Seungkwan peeked one eye out from under the covers, glaring. “You came in here just to bully me?”

“No,” Chan said simply, tugging at a loose thread on the comforter. “I came because you didn’t come out to the kitchen. Everyone else is eating. I figured you either died or… well, this.”

Seungkwan sighed dramatically, flopping onto his back. “Fine. You caught me. I’m wallowing.”

Chan tilted his head, eyebrows raised. “Wallowing in what? Your own laziness?”

“In the injustice of the world, obviously.”

“You sound like you wrote that line in a diary,” Chan said, fighting a grin. “With glitter pen.”

“Shut up.” But Seungkwan couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. His head still pounded, but it eased something inside him.

For a minute, the room was quiet except for the distant clatter of dishes down the hall. Chan stretched his legs, kicking gently at Seungkwan’s ankle through the blanket.

“You did look like you were having fun last night, though,” Chan said casually. “On the dance floor. Like, really fun.”

Seungkwan pulled the blanket back over his head. “Don’t remind me.”

“Why not?”

“Because—” Seungkwan’s voice came out muffled. “Because I probably looked ridiculous.”

Chan rolled his eyes. “You didn’t. Everyone was watching, and not in a bad way. You kind of owned the floor.”

Seungkwan peeked out again, his hair a total mess, his expression skeptical. “Owned the floor? What am I, Hoshi?”

Chan grinned. “Obviously not. You don’t have the hips for it.”

“Excuse me?” Seungkwan sat up, clutching the blanket around him like a cape. “These hips are premium Jeju-bred—”

“Okay, okay!” Chan raised his hands, laughing. “Premium hips, noted.”

The playful silence that followed made it easy to breathe again. Seungkwan flopped back dramatically onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. The image of Vernon’s face—still, unreadable—flashed unbidden in his mind, but he shoved it down, replaced it with the steady presence of Chan beside him.

“You’re annoyingly good at this, you know,” Seungkwan muttered.

“At what?”

“Getting me out of my head.”

Chan shrugged. “You do the same for me all the time. Fair trade.”

Seungkwan felt his throat tighten, but he covered it with a grin. “Fine, you win this round. But next time I’m the one barging into your room when you’re wallowing.”

Chan snorted. “Good luck. You’d have to break in—I lock my door.”

“Unbelievable.” Seungkwan grabbed the nearest pillow and smacked him with it, earning another laugh.

And just like that, the tension in his chest eased—not gone, not forgotten, but quieter. For now, he could sit in this moment, with Chan teasing him about his so-called “premium hips,” and let the heavier thoughts wait.

The kitchen looked like a war zone. Empty water glasses cluttered the counter, a cereal box lay tipped on its side spilling flakes, and someone had abandoned a half-burnt pan on the stove. The faint smell of grease still lingered. Morning light pushed weakly through the blinds, cutting thin lines across the chaos.

Seungkwan sat at the table, hair sticking up in odd directions, a plate of lopsided pancakes in front of him. He stabbed at one with his fork, more aggressively than necessary.

Across from him, Chan chewed slowly, watching with mild concern. “You’re going to murder that pancake before you even eat it.”

“It deserves it,” Seungkwan muttered, not looking up.

Chan snorted. “Right. Pancakes are now your mortal enemy. Got it.”

Seungkwan finally shoved a bite into his mouth, chewing in silence. He wasn’t cranky, not exactly. Just… wound up. His body was restless, but his chest was heavy. He blamed the alcohol, the hangover, everything but the truth.

The sound of the front door opening made both of them glance up. Footsteps padded down the hall, slow and heavy, before Vernon appeared in the doorway. His hair was shoved under a beanie, hoodie thrown on over sweats, eyes half-lidded like he hadn’t slept properly.

“Morning,” he said, voice low and rough from sleep.

“Yo,” Chan greeted easily, swallowing another mouthful of pancake. “There’s more if you want.”

Vernon gave a small nod, moving to grab a plate. His movements were unhurried, casual, but to Seungkwan it felt like every step echoed too loud in the quiet flat.

He forced himself to keep eating, eyes glued to his plate. But it was impossible not to notice Vernon in the corner of his vision—how he leaned on the counter waiting for the kettle to boil, how he moved so comfortably in the space.

The memory from last night came back uninvited. The crush of bodies on the dance floor. The alcohol buzzing in his veins. The way he’d pulled Vernon closer without thinking. The heat. The kiss.

His chest tightened, and he gripped his fork harder.

Chan was still talking, rambling about how he’d heroically made breakfast for everyone. Seungkwan answered in small nods, barely processing the words. He risked one glance up—and immediately regretted it. Vernon had sat down at the far end of the table, plate in front of him, eating in silence. Their eyes almost met. Almost.

Seungkwan dropped his gaze so quickly it must’ve been obvious. He shoved another bite of pancake into his mouth, chewing like it could drown out the pounding in his chest.

Chan raised an eyebrow. “You okay, hyung? You’re eating like someone’s timing you.”

“I’m fine,” Seungkwan said too quickly, the words muffled by food. “Totally fine.”

“Right,” Chan muttered, unconvinced. He kicked Seungkwan lightly under the table. “Relax. No one’s stealing your plate.”

Seungkwan forced a laugh that didn’t sound quite right. “I’ll relax when you learn how to cook properly.”

Chan rolled his eyes but let it go, returning to his food. The silence that settled after was thicker than before, every scrape of a fork and clink of a glass sharp in Seungkwan’s ears.

Vernon ate quietly, unreadable as always. He didn’t say much, didn’t look over, didn’t acknowledge anything. And maybe that was worse. Because every second Seungkwan sat there, the memory of last night pressed harder against him—the warmth, the mistake, the way Vernon had gone still against his lips.

He stared down at his pancakes until they blurred, throat tight.

The kitchen was quiet but suffocating, just the three of them and the weight of what Seungkwan couldn’t bring himself to say.

Finally, Dino broke the stalemate. “Okay, so… last night was wild, right?” His voice was light, testing the waters.

Seungkwan groaned. “Wild is one word for it. My feet are suing me for emotional distress.”

“You’re just bitter you lost the dance battle,” Dino teased, grinning.

“I didn’t lose!” Seungkwan shot back, waving his fork dramatically. “I just… conceded the floor to you and Hoshi out of mercy.”

Vernon’s mouth twitched — the smallest smirk, but it vanished just as quickly when Seungkwan’s eyes darted toward him.

Dino only leaned back smugly. “Sure, hyung. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Seungkwan swatted him with a napkin, but the corners of his lips were already curving upward.

Vernon finally spoke, his voice low but steady. “You did look like you were having fun, though.”

The words caught Seungkwan off guard. His throat tightened — was Vernon teasing? Being genuine? He couldn’t tell. He forced a laugh instead. “Yeah, well, what’s the point of clubbing if not to embarrass yourself at least once per hour?”

“Mission accomplished, then,” Dino chimed in, nearly choking on his juice as he laughed.

Seungkwan lobbed another napkin at him.

The mood lifted slightly, the awkwardness thinning just enough to breathe. Still, every time the conversation lulled, Seungkwan felt Vernon’s silence hanging heavy between them.

Dino shifted gears. “Can you believe classes actually start Monday? Like… we have to wake up before noon. Tragic.”

“Don’t remind me,” Seungkwan said, slumping against the table. “I’ll be a corpse in the back row by week two.”

“You already look like one,” Dino shot back with a grin.

Seungkwan flipped him off without lifting his head.

Vernon took another slow sip of his coffee. “You’ll survive,” he said simply, eyes on the steam rising from his mug.

“Oh, thanks for the encouragement,” Seungkwan muttered, though his lips betrayed the faintest twitch of a smile.

Dino glanced between them, sensing the undercurrent but choosing not to pry. Instead, he started rambling about needing to buy stationery and how he’d probably get lost on campus his first day. Seungkwan threw in sarcastic commentary, Vernon occasionally dropping in a dry one-liner that made Dino cackle.

On the surface, it was almost normal — three flatmates joking over pancakes, recovering from a night out. But under the laughter, the tension lingered. Every time Seungkwan caught Vernon’s profile in the morning light, the memory of last night’s mistake burned hotter in his chest. And every time Vernon said something simple, something harmless, it was all Seungkwan could do not to wonder what silence meant — indifference, discomfort, or something else entirely.

Seungkwan stretched out his arms in a theatrical yawn, patting his stomach after finishing his pancakes. “Alright, gentlemen,” he said, already sliding his chair back, “I am retreating to my chambers. I have important business with my pillow.”

Chan rolled his eyes, rinsing his plate at the sink. “You’ve had, what, eight hours of sleep? That’s plenty.”

“Eight is barely enough for survival,” Seungkwan muttered dramatically as he shuffled down the hallway. “Don’t talk to me unless I’ve hit double digits.”

He waved a hand behind him, already half gone, and padded to his room. The door clicked softly as he pulled it open. But before he could slip inside, there was a voice — low, tentative — from behind.

“Hey.”

Seungkwan stiffened. He didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

He forced a scoff, keeping his back to the door. “What? You coming to nag me about my beauty sleep, Hansol?”

Vernon’s footsteps came closer, measured and slow. “Just… didn’t want you to disappear.”

Something tugged uncomfortably at Seungkwan’s chest. He exhaled, long and tired, and pushed the door open wider. “Fine. But don’t touch anything. I like my chaos exactly the way it is.”

Vernon stepped in, his presence steady but quiet, and closed the door behind him. Seungkwan flopped onto his bed like a fallen king, arms spread wide, staring at the ceiling. Vernon lingered near the desk chair, hovering like he wasn’t sure if he had permission to sit.

“You can sit, you know,” Seungkwan said without looking at him. “I don’t bite. Unless you annoy me.”

Vernon’s lips twitched faintly, but he said nothing as he sank into the chair. The silence between them was thick — not uncomfortable exactly, but charged.

Seungkwan couldn’t take it. “You’re quiet. Even quieter than usual. That’s saying something.”

“Just tired,” Vernon mumbled.

“You’re always tired.” Seungkwan let out a short laugh, a little too loud. “It’s your brand at this point.”

Vernon’s mouth curved into the smallest smile, but it faded quickly, leaving only that pensive look on his face — the one that made Seungkwan feel like Vernon could see through him no matter how hard he joked.

Seungkwan rolled onto his side, eyes narrowing. “Okay, seriously. What’s up with you?”

Vernon hesitated. His fingers worried at the hem of his hoodie. “Just… thinking about last night.”

The words landed heavy in Seungkwan’s stomach. His throat tightened, but he forced out a laugh, light and casual, as if nothing in the world could touch him. “Ohhh, that mess? Please. Everyone was wasted. I barely even remember half of it.”

He turned his face back to the ceiling, forcing a grin. “I mean, if I did anything stupid, chalk it up to the alcohol. Not my fault my bloodstream was 80% tequila.”

The joke hung in the air, loud and clumsy. Seungkwan hoped it would stick, hoped Vernon would let it land and move on. Maybe even forget entirely. God, he wanted him to forget.

Vernon gave a soft huff of laughter. “Yeah… yeah, same. We were all drunk.”

Relief washed through Seungkwan like a tide, though it was bitter too. He let himself chuckle, too loud, smacking his palm against his knee. “Exactly! Just drunk idiots. Nothing to psychoanalyze here.”

But when he glanced sideways, Vernon wasn’t laughing anymore. His smile was faint, tight at the edges. His eyes had that faraway look again, like he was chewing on something he couldn’t say out loud.

Seungkwan’s grin faltered. He pulled his knees up to his chest, hugging them. “Good. Glad we’re on the same page.”

“Yeah,” Vernon murmured. But the way he said it — quiet, heavy — made Seungkwan’s chest ache.

He looked away, focusing on a poster tacked to his wall, anything but Vernon’s eyes. He wanted to push, to say do you even remember? do you care? But instead, he swallowed it down, burying it under another joke. “At least I didn’t puke on anyone’s shoes. That’s a win in my book.”

This time Vernon laughed, soft and real. But under it, he felt the weight of something else. The silence stretched again after, longer this time, and Seungkwan hated how much he noticed every tiny shift in the air.

Vernon leaned back in the chair, gaze skimming the room. “You’ve got good taste,” he said absently, nodding toward the wall of posters.

“Of course I do,” Seungkwan shot back immediately, voice light. “Do you think I’d surround myself with ugly things? Please.”

Vernon smiled, small but real. “Guess not.”

Seungkwan hugged his knees tighter. He told himself it was fine, that this was normal, that he was glad Vernon had laughed it off. That the kiss was already dissolving into the blur of last night, tucked away in a haze of bad alcohol and loud music.

But when he risked a glance at Vernon — the way he sat there so steady, so quiet, with something unreadable in his eyes — Seungkwan couldn’t shake the sting in his chest. Because he had hoped, just for a second, that maybe it had meant something. And maybe, just maybe, Vernon had hoped the same.

Neither of them said it.

And so they sat, two boys in a messy bedroom, laughing off the things that cut the deepest, pretending the silence didn’t say more than either of them dared to.

Chapter Text

The fluorescent lights of Tesco buzzed overhead, cold and unflattering, making even the apples look vaguely suspect. The sliding doors whooshed closed behind them, sealing them inside like they were entering a colosseum of too-bright aisles and far-too-many choices. Their shopping cart squeaked every third wheel rotation, courtesy of Hoshi, who had insisted on “test driving” it across the parking lot like he was auditioning for Fast & Furious.

“First things first,” Hoshi declared, slapping his hands together like a general briefing his soldiers. “Snacks. Uni survival is ninety percent snacks.”

Jun shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his hoodie, eyes crinkling in amusement. “Pretty sure it’s, you know, lectures. Assignments. Actual studying.”

“Wrong.” Hoshi didn’t even blink. “Snacks. Caffeine. And vibes.” He pointed dramatically toward the glowing snack aisle like it was treasure hidden in plain sight.

Woozi, already looking faintly exhausted despite the fact they’d only been inside for two minutes, pinched the bridge of his nose. “You don’t need six multipacks of crisps. You’ll eat them all in one day, then complain you’re broke.”

“That’s future Hoshi’s problem,” Hoshi shot back, already tossing a giant pack into the trolley.

Wonwoo trailed at the back, fingers grazing along shelves lined with mugs and cheap bowls. He finally said, quiet but clear, “Or you could just buy rice. Lasts longer.”

Hoshi whipped around, jaw dropping. “Et tu, Wonwoo?”

Jun burst out laughing so hard he had to brace against the trolley. “No, but he’s right! Rice. Instant noodles. Things you can actually cook.” He grabbed a twenty-pack of ramen, hoisting it like a prize. “See? Mature shopping.”

Woozi snorted. “If that’s maturity, I dread to think where we’re all headed.”

The group naturally split as they wandered further in.

Woozi’s basket filled methodically: eggs, pasta, frozen dumplings, a sad-looking cucumber that he inspected for two full minutes before reluctantly approving. Wonwoo stuck close, occasionally making soft suggestions, but mostly watching Woozi with quiet amusement — the way he scowled at price tags like they had personally insulted him.

Jun drifted like a tourist, pausing every few seconds to marvel at British packaging. “Why does your cereal box look like… this? Back home it’s cooler. And this,” he said, holding up a tin of beans like it was an alien artifact, “this just feels illegal.”

Meanwhile, Hoshi was pure chaos.

He reappeared from the toiletries aisle holding a pack of neon-pink razors, waving them triumphantly. “Do you think these would make me shave faster? Aerodynamics, maybe?”

“Put them back,” Woozi deadpanned without even glancing up from the shelf of sauces.

Hoshi placed them reverently into the trolley anyway.

“Seriously,” Woozi hissed, spinning on him. “Do you actually need razors? You barely grow anything.”

“Investments in my future,” Hoshi replied solemnly, pressing a palm to his chest. “Smooth skin, smooth life.”

Jun laughed so hard he nearly dropped the beans.

By the time they reached self-checkout, the trolley was a battlefield: Woozi’s neatly stacked essentials, Jun’s ramen tower, Wonwoo’s modest pile of teas and notebooks, and Hoshi’s bizarre collection — three multipacks of crisps, neon razors, and, somehow, an inflatable flamingo pool float.

Woozi’s glare at the flamingo could have set it on fire. “We don’t even have a pool.”

Hoshi only shrugged, beaming. “But we might.”

“Unbelievable,” Woozi muttered, dragging the scanner across a frozen pizza like it had personally wronged him.

Jun clapped Hoshi on the back. “Dream big, Hoshi. Dream big.”

Wonwoo quietly slipped a packet of biscuits into their pile, unnoticed. He didn’t need them, but something about having them on hand — the simple, homely comfort of it — felt grounding.

They spilled out of Tesco half an hour later, bags dragging at their hands, Woozi muttering under his breath about how their receipt was long enough to wrap around the trolley twice.

They’d promised themselves it would be a “quick trip for essentials,” but somehow the haul had doubled, then tripled, until they were trudging down the street with multipacks of crisps, frozen pizzas, and, in Hoshi’s case, a giant pink inflatable flamingo.

“You’re an idiot,” Jun muttered, shaking his head at the sight of the box sticking halfway out of Hoshi’s bag.

“An innovator,” Hoshi corrected, grinning despite the sweat beading on his forehead. “Picture it: pool parties, rooftop sunbathing—”

“Rooftop sunbathing with a flamingo?” Woozi cut in, voice flat, his bag hanging from one hand. “You don’t even know if our roof is accessible.”

“I’ll make it accessible,” Hoshi said confidently.

Wonwoo adjusted his grip on the straps digging into his palm, lips twitching with a smile he tried not to show. “At least he’s committed to the bit.”

“Committed to wasting money,” Jun said, but there was no bite to it.

They fell into a rhythm as they walked through the quiet streets, bags rustling, sneakers scuffing the pavement. The night air was cool, a relief after the heavy lights and sweat of Ministry the night before. For a while, no one spoke. They were tired, still carrying the dull ache of hangovers, and content to let the silence settle.

Jun broke it first. “So,” he said, swinging his bag a little, “are we just not gonna talk about last night? Or is everyone pretending it didn’t happen?”

“Didn’t happen,” Woozi said immediately.

“Yeah, that’s my vote too,” Wonwoo added.

“Cowards,” Hoshi grinned, glancing back at them. “Come on, we should be proud. We survived Ministry. Barely, but still.”

“Some of us survived better than others,” Jun said, raising a brow.

Hoshi clutched his chest like he’d been wounded. “I was fine.”

“You were upside down at one point,” Woozi said.

“That’s talent.”

Wonwoo let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. The image of Hoshi mid-cartwheel on the dance floor was seared into his brain — and so was Dino’s face when he’d shown everyone up in that dance battle.

They walked on, laughter fading back into the night. A few streets later, Jun’s voice softened. “You guys nervous for Monday?”

Woozi shrugged. “It’s just school. Nothing new.”

“I don’t know,” Jun said. “Feels different. Like it actually matters now.”

Hoshi nodded, surprising them all with his seriousness. “Yeah. It’s exciting, but kinda terrifying too.”

No one spoke for a moment. The streetlamps buzzed faintly, their shadows long on the pavement. Wonwoo kept his eyes on the ground, his thoughts spiraling. He wasn’t scared of classes, not really. It was everything else — the people, the nights that blurred too quickly, the mornings that felt heavy. The way he kept letting himself hope for things he couldn’t have.

He swallowed and forced himself to say, “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

The others glanced at him, and even Woozi cracked a tiny smile.

“Wow,” Jun said, bumping his shoulder against Wonwoo’s. “Look at you, saying the motivational stuff.”

“Shut up,” Wonwoo muttered again, but it was softer this time.

By the time the flat came into view, their hands were aching and their arms sore. Hoshi groaned dramatically as he stumbled up the steps. “If I die, make sure people know Tesco is to blame.”

“Noted,” Woozi said dryly.

They shoved their way inside and dumped everything onto the kitchen counter. The flamingo box slid out of Hoshi’s bag and landed in the middle of the floor, glossy and ridiculous.

They all stared at it in silence.

“Worth every penny,” Jun said finally.

Then Hoshi crouched, tore the box open, and pulled out the deflated mess of vinyl.

“Oh no,” Woozi said immediately, hands lifting in protest. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh yes,” Hoshi countered, already fishing through the packaging for the tiny plastic pump. “It’ll take, like, five minutes.”

“Five hours, more like,” Jun muttered, yanking freezer food out of one of the bags. “Do it later.”

But Hoshi was already shoving the pump into the flamingo’s neck, determination written across his face. Each squeaky push of air filled the quiet kitchen, absurdly loud against the hum of the fridge.

“You’re insane,” Woozi said, but there was no real venom. He climbed onto one of the stools at the counter, head resting in his palm. He was clearly too tired to fight this battle.

Wonwoo started unloading tins and cartons, stacking them neatly by category because it was easier than thinking too hard. The rhythmic squeak of the pump filled the silence, and for a moment, it almost felt like a soundtrack.

Jun pulled out another frozen pizza and held it up. “Three pizzas. Who bought three?”

“Me,” Wonwoo admitted.

Jun raised an eyebrow. “You planning to eat all of them yourself?”

“Yes.”

That actually got a laugh out of Hoshi, who was red in the face from pumping air. “Classic Wonwoo.”

“Shut up,” Wonwoo said, but this time he was smiling.

By the time the last bag was emptied and the fridge was awkwardly overstuffed, the flamingo had taken shape. It loomed absurdly in the cramped kitchen, glossy and pink, its head bent like it was judging all of them.

“Behold!” Hoshi announced, spreading his arms wide. “Our new flat mascot.”

Jun leaned against the counter, unimpressed. “It takes up half the room. Where’s it even gonna go?”

“Here,” Hoshi said proudly, giving the flamingo’s side a slap. “Right where it belongs.”

“No,” Woozi said flatly.

“Yes,” Hoshi shot back.

“No.”

“Yes.”

Wonwoo sighed, slipping down onto a stool beside Woozi, suddenly too exhausted to intervene. He rubbed at his temples, but there was a small curve of a smile tugging at his lips. He could already imagine Hoshi dragging that thing into every room, maybe even onto the roof if he managed to break into it like he’d promised.

Jun finally shoved off the counter and grabbed the flamingo by the neck, steering it toward the living room. “Fine. It lives out here. At least then we don’t have to look at it while we cook.”

“Don’t strangle her!” Hoshi yelped, running after him. “Her name is Gloria.”

“Gloria?” Woozi repeated, voice tired but sharp with disbelief.

“Yeah,” Hoshi said, like it was obvious. “She looks like a Gloria.”

Jun groaned loudly, dragging the bird across the floor with Hoshi clinging to it.

Wonwoo leaned back on the stool, head tipping against the cupboard behind him. His arms and shoulders still ached from carrying the bags. His head still buzzed faintly from the night before. And yet, watching the chaos unfold in front of him, he couldn’t help thinking — maybe this was what made it all feel bearable. 

The four of them slumped onto the couch, grocery bags scattered on the floor, the quiet aftermath of a long shopping trip settling around them. 

Jun kicked off his shoes and stretched, letting out a low whistle. “Alright, so… about last night,” he began casually, eyes flicking toward Wonwoo.

Wonwoo froze mid-sip of his water, eyebrows lifting. “Uh… what about it?”

Jun leaned back on the couch, genuinely curious, fingers laced loosely over his stomach. “So… did you get with Mingyu last night or what?”

Hoshi raised an eyebrow, smirking a little. “Yeah, did anything happen between you two?”

Wonwoo’s throat tightened. He swallowed and looked down at his hands. “I… no, not really.” He tried to keep his voice casual, but it sounded quieter than he intended.

Hoshi nodded slowly, his grin softening. “Ah, okay. Just  wondering, that’s all. You seemed… you know, in your own world last night.”

Jun added quietly, “Yeah, no pressure, just curious. You can tell us, Won.”

Wonwoo ran a hand through his hair, a small laugh escaping him. “Honestly, I don’t even think Mingyu noticed me. I… it’s fine. I didn’t… we didn’t—”

Woozi, who had been sitting silently, sipping a soda, glanced at them and then at Wonwoo. His tone was calm, almost soft, “Guys… maybe let it go. He’s saying it didn’t happen.”

Jun shrugged, leaning back but still watching Wonwoo. “Yeah… okay. We’re just curious. I get it.”

Hoshi flopped back, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Fine. I’ll let it slide. For now.”

Jun leaned forward slightly, curiosity lighting up his face. “Alright, then… Woozi. Did you get with anyone yesterday?”

Woozi raised an eyebrow, tilting his head back against the couch. “Nope,” he said evenly, almost too calmly, letting a small smirk tug at the corner of his lips.

Jun blinked, leaning back slightly, studying him. “Huh… really? No one at all?” He sounded more genuinely curious than teasing, his hands resting loosely on his knees.

Woozi shrugged, the movement casual. “I mean… nothing happened. You saw me—I wasn’t exactly out there looking for it.”

Hoshi snorted from across the room, pretending to be uninterested but clearly listening. He leaned back against the armrest of the couch, arms crossed, eyes glinting with mischief. “So you’re telling us nothing happened, but you were there… dancing, drinking, stumbling around a little?” He let the words hang, like he was observing a puzzle.

Woozi’s lips twitched, amused by Hoshi’s slow build-up. “Yeah, nothing happened. And maybe a little stumbling. That’s about it.”

Hoshi leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand. “A little stumbling, huh?” His tone was casual, but there was a teasing edge creeping in. “So, hypothetically, if something… or someone had happened—would it have mattered?”

Woozi raised a brow, keeping his composure. “Hypothetically, huh? I guess we’re diving into hypotheticals now?” He let the pause stretch, keeping them hanging on the edge.

Jun laughed softly, shaking his head. “You’re impossible, man.”

Hoshi grinned, leaning back again, a slow smirk on his face. “Fine, fine… I’m just saying, it’s a big party, right? Everyone’s having fun. You didn’t sneak off with anyone by accident?”

Woozi exhaled, letting a small chuckle escape. “No. Not by accident either,” he said, glancing between the two of them. “I know what I’m doing.”

Hoshi tilted his head, smirking. “Are you sure? Because from here, it looks like you were perfectly capable of… getting swept away.”

Woozi’s eyes flicked toward Hoshi, who leaned forward again, clearly enjoying the slow unraveling of Woozi’s composure. “Swept away, huh? You mean like… hypothetically, or…?”

Hoshi shook his head with mock innocence. “No, no. Just curious, that’s all. Totally casual observation. Nothing else.”

Woozi let out a quiet sigh, tilting his head back against the couch again. “You two really enjoy poking, don’t you?”

Jun shrugged with a grin. “Only when it’s interesting.”

Hoshi leaned forward slightly again, lowering his voice just a notch, a teasing gleam in his eyes. “I mean… you were at a party. Everyone knows someone might get with someone. Not that I’m saying you did, but…” He let the sentence trail off, leaving Woozi to feel the weight of it.

Woozi finally leaned back, letting a small smirk escape. “Well, for the record… I didn’t. And even if someone thought about it, it was purely hypothetical, like your endless questions.”

Jun laughed, shaking his head. “Alright, alright… we get it. You’re untouchable. No one got you yesterday, period.”

Hoshi grinned, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine. But next time, we’re keeping a closer eye on you.”

Woozi shook his head, amusement and mild exasperation mingling in his expression. “You’ll try. And fail.”

Chapter Text

Hannie named the gc: my stepchildren

Hannie added Coups, Josh, DK, Gyu, Woozi, Hoshi

Hannie: good morning children and husband

Hannie: i need ur help

Hannie: i need everyone from the party last friday to be added to this gc 

Hannie: u have 30 secs 

DK: ON IT MUM🫡

DK: UM I ACTUALLY ONLY HAVE HAO’S NUMBER..

Hoshi: lol lonerrr

Hoshi added Wonwoo, Jun, Minghao

DK: how tf do u even have hao’s number creep??

Hoshi: heh dw about that sweetheart

Minghao: what tf is this

Minghao: and why am i here

Jun: remove me before i send my penis here

Hoshi: YES PLS😛

Wonwoo: jeez u weirdo

Hannie: dont fight kids

Hannie: who are we missing

DK: vernon and his flat i think

DK: josh has his number

Hannie: that boy never checks his phone let me call him

Josh: what on earth did i come back to??

Hannie: dont ask questions

Hannie: i need american boy and his minions added pronto

Hannie: so my collection is complete

DK: what are u thanos?

Josh added Vernon

Vernon: …hello?

Hannie: welcome my child

Vernon: bruh

DK: VERNON BESTIE HEE

Josh: Vernon add ur friends here before Jeonghan calls me again

Vernon added Seungkwan and Dino

Seungkwan: mama i finally made it into a cult🙌🏼

Hoshi: KWANNIE my friend i missed u babe

Seungkwan: HOSHHH missed u too babe

Jun: stop flirting on my cellular device

Hoshi: homophobic

Hoshi: this is payback for u and hao

Minghao: shut up hamster

Gyu: bro 13 ppl in this gc??

Gyu: i cant keep up

Hannie: u can keep up with all ur bitches tho..

DK: OOP clockeddd🫢

Gyu: die

Dino: omg hi everyone

Dino: i dont remember anyones face or name, sorry guys

Dino: i think im still hungover…

Seungkwan: dw me too

Hoshi: lowkey same

DK: me 4

DK: i still cant feel my face

Seungkwan: I CANT FEEL MY FACE WHEN IM WITH YOU

Hoshi: BUT I LOVE IT

DK: chat when we having a karaoke night???

Minghao: keep that shit way away from my house

Gyu: OUR house 

Gyu: but yes agree

Woozi: lord what have i been put into

Hoshi: me hopefully

Jun:..

Gyu:…

Vernon:....

Hoshi: mum, woozi came to my room and threw a water bottle at me

Hannie: kids behaveee

Hannie: omg do we have everyone here??
Hannie: shall we all introduce ourselves?

Hannie: sober this time

Jun: what is this, nursery??

Minghao: hi my name is minghao and i like bananas

Jun: yh mine ones

DK: u make me want to be homophobic

Hoshi: hes typing this with my dick in his mouth

Woozi: can confirm

Gyu: oh good lord

Hannie: seriously tho itll be nice

Hannie: to get the new ones comfortable 

Hannie: say ur name and degree and maybe any societies u do or are gonna do?

Seungkwan: very cute

Seungkwan: well ill start. Hi im seungkwan, I’m studying drama and musical theatre and i cant wait to get drunk with yall again!

DK: SHUT UP ME TOO??? TWIN

Seungkwan: OMG?? WHERE HAVE U BEENN

Josh: this is gonna go absolutely terrible

Jun: who let this happen lord

Hoshi: im so jealous 

Hoshi: u all know me the one and only Hoshi. I am doing performing arts and my child and prodigy lee chan will be joining me.

Dino: yes father

Wonwoo: hey guys, im wonwoo and im doing english lit. unfortunately.

Hoshi: he writes banging yaoi guys

Gyu: ??

Seungkwan: oh

Wonwoo: brb let me throttle hoshi quickly

Wonwoo: guys i rlly dont genuinely pls ignore him

Hannie: damn i was excited

Coups: ??

Hannie: anyways hello children, I am ur mother and beside me is ur father choi seungcheol but dont call him that or he’ll cry. 

Coups: i can type for myself idiot

Coups: hi guys I am NOT ur dad and im Scoups studying politics.

Hannie: hes right hes actually ur stepdad surprise!

Hannie: but im in my final year of psychology

Hannie: so if u need crush advice…

Hoshi: @DK

DK: kys

Hoshi: @Wonwoo

Wonwoo: kys

Jun: @Hoshi

Hoshi: kys

Hannie: ok whos next lets speed this up

Jun: hi im jun doing film and media studies, woozi does music production, my beautiful bf minghao does fine art and mingyu does prostitution

Gyu: ill ban u from my house jun

Minghao: OUR

Gyu: OUR house

Gyu: Im mingyu and im doing architecture :)

Hannie: what a waste of a right foot

Hannie: josh has died again but he does theology and ethics or some shit like that

Vernon: well last but not least im vernon and im doing religious studies

Jun: yayy can i leave now?

Hannie: um not yet u leave the dinner table when ur dismissed📏

Woozi: I dont wanna be involved in ur freak role play shit

Hannie: i have some rules for the group that MUST be followed

Hannie: if they are not, i warn u i have juicy gossip on all of u that will be used to my advantage

Hannie: i dont study psychology for no reason

Seungkwan:... even us?

Hannie: oh yes.. Including photos and videos

Dino: why am i scared

Vernon: lowkey same - i abide by all the rules

Hannie: good

Hannie: u get dessert for following instructions🍭

Hannie: rule 1 - what is said in the gc, stays in the gc

DK: what is this fight club?

Vernon: goated movie

Hannie: rule 2 - we must ALL look out for our youngest children

Seungkwan: i agree

Dino: me too

Vernon: happy with that 

Hoshi: i am alpha 🐺 

Woozi: ew pls

Wonwoo: gosh

Hannie: rule 3 - we have a weekly debrief, preferably with alcohol

Hannie: mandatory attendance

Gyu: some of us are busy

Coups: yes, we have jobs btw

Minghao: deadass

Hannie: who dares go against mother??

Seungkwan: not calling u mother

Jun: yh kinda not into that soz

Hannie: idc, if u can make it for an hour or 10 mins, we all live close by so it can be done.

Hannie: if u fail to attend, u will be punished… badly…

DK: damn sorry cant make it😱

Hoshi: yh me neither, damn it!😱

Jun: creeps

Hannie: DK will bring free weed if u come..

DK: huh who said that?

Vernon: im there

Gyu: me too, thanks babe!

Minghao: yayy

DK: uhhh

Woozi: is that it, can i go now 

Hoshi: yh we were actually in the middle of a very exciting episode of the chase

Gyu: u grandmas

Gyu: remind me to never come over

Jun: u wouldn’t be invited in the first place

Hoshi: u can sleep in the kitchen

Hoshi: or Won’s room

Wonwoo: no thanks

Gyu: :(

Hannie: ok children u are dismissed, have a good first day of uni tomorrow

Hannie: gonna go have sex now byee!!

Jun: EW

Hoshi: SEND VIDS

DK: BRUHH

Minghao: blocking you

Chapter Text

The first thing Seungkwan heard that morning was screaming.

Not human screaming — worse. It was the shrill, soul-piercing noise of a smoke alarm, coming from somewhere near the kitchen. His heart nearly stopped.

“CHAN?” he yelled, stumbling out of bed. “WHAT DID YOU DO NOW?”

From down the hall came an extremely unconvincing, “Nothing!”

Seungkwan groaned, dragging a hand through his hair and muttering curses under his breath as he shoved his feet into slippers. It was barely 8 a.m., the first day of uni, and he was already fighting for his life.

He swung open his door to find smoke curling lazily out of the kitchen. Vernon was standing at the counter like nothing was happening, mug in hand, hood up, half-asleep. Chan, meanwhile, was frantically waving a tea towel at the ceiling.

“Good morning,” Vernon said casually, like the room wasn’t seconds away from catching fire.

Seungkwan blinked. “What the hell are you two doing?”

“Making toast,” Chan said, still flapping the towel. “But then the bread got stuck, so I tried to—”

“Don’t say you used a fork,” Seungkwan interrupted.

“I used a fork,” Chan admitted.

“Jesus Christ.”

The alarm finally stopped, leaving only the smell of burnt bread and despair. Chan turned, smiling weakly. “Crisis averted.”

“Barely,” Seungkwan said, waving the smoke away. “If we die before our first lecture, I’m haunting you.”

Vernon smirked into his mug. “At least he tried making breakfast.”

“Yeah, tried to kill us, you mean,” Seungkwan shot back. “And what are you doing? You look like a SoundCloud rapper who just woke up in a stranger’s house.”

“I like comfort,” Vernon said simply.

“Comfort,” Seungkwan repeated, eyeing his hoodie. “That’s my hoodie.”

Vernon paused, looked down at it, then shrugged. “You left it in the kitchen last night.”

“You stole it.”

“Borrowed it.”

“You literally smell like me now.”

Vernon’s lips twitched. “Lucky me.”

Chan snorted loudly from the toaster. “Can you two not flirt before I’ve had caffeine?”

“Flirt?” Seungkwan scoffed, reaching for a glass. “Please. I don’t flirt with men who try to burn down the kitchen.”

“I didn’t!” Chan said indignantly. “It was a misunderstanding between me and the toaster.”

“The toaster can’t misunderstand you, it’s a toaster!”

By the time breakfast had finished (if you could call burnt toast and half a banana breakfast), the three of them were sitting around the little dining table, still half-asleep and very aware of how painfully real the day felt.

First day of university. The big, terrifying reset button.

“I don’t know about you guys,” Chan said, leaning back, “but I’m kinda excited.”

“Good for you,” Seungkwan mumbled. “I’m kinda nauseous.”

“You’ll be fine,” Vernon said. “You’ve been talking about this all week.”

“That was performative optimism, Vernon.”

“Performative what?”

“I was pretending to be excited so I wouldn’t spiral.”

Chan blinked. “You say that like that’s normal.”

“It is normal,” Seungkwan said. “I’m a Gemini.”

Vernon chuckled quietly, shaking his head. “I give it two days before you start running a student council.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Seungkwan said, buttering another slice of toast. “I need at least a week.”

Chan laughed so hard he nearly choked.

The three of them eventually split to their rooms to get ready — though “getting ready” looked different for each of them.

For Chan, it meant changing his outfit three times and taking mirror selfies he’d never post.

For Vernon, it meant changing nothing at all, just switching from slippers to sneakers.

For Seungkwan, it meant having a mild crisis over whether his outfit made him look too “approachable.”

He ended up in a beige jacket, white tee, and a tote bag that said ‘Support Your Local Drama Queen’ because irony was the only thing keeping him sane.

When they met again in the hallway, Vernon raised an eyebrow. “You look like you’re about to host a talk show.”

“That’s the goal,” Seungkwan said, adjusting his bag. “If anyone interviews me today, I’m ready.”

Chan zipped his hoodie. “Who’s interviewing you?”

“Life, Chan. Life is interviewing me.”

The morning air hit them the second they stepped outside — crisp and bright, the kind that made you want to believe things were actually changing. Students were spilling out of buildings and buses, laughing, calling to each other, dragging suitcases and coffee cups.

“Okay,” Chan said, taking a deep breath. “We’re actually doing this.”

“Don’t sound so proud,” Seungkwan said. “We literally just walked out the door.”

“Still progress.”

Vernon adjusted his backpack. “You two fight like you’ve known each other for years.”

Seungkwan glanced at him. “That’s because trauma bonds people, Vernon.”

“Trauma?”

“Living with Chan.”

“Hey!” Chan protested, shoving him lightly. “I’m delightful!”

“You almost killed us with toast,” Seungkwan said.

“Everyone makes mistakes.”

“Not everyone’s mistakes involve fire alarms!”

Vernon grinned, quiet and amused, watching them bicker as they walked toward campus. He didn’t say much — he never did — but something about the two of them made it easy to just listen. Like watching a very loud, very dysfunctional sitcom in real life.

They stopped by a crossing, the university gates visible up ahead — banners hanging, people handing out flyers, an awkward kid in a mascot costume already regretting life.

Chan stretched his arms, buzzing with energy. “I can’t believe we actually made it.”

“Yeah,” Seungkwan said softly, eyes scanning the crowd. “Same.”

Vernon followed his gaze, catching a flicker of nerves there. “You’ll be fine.”

“Who says I’m nervous?”

“You’re chewing your lip again.”

Seungkwan quickly looked away. “I always do that.”

“Exactly,” Vernon said, smiling faintly.

Before he could say anything else, Chan clapped both their shoulders. “Alright, team. Let’s go introduce ourselves to the next four years of pain!”

“Wow, what a slogan,” Seungkwan muttered.

“Better than yours, which is probably ‘I hate everything but I still showed up.’”

“…accurate.”

As they walked through the gates, the noise of students and music surrounded them — overwhelming, electric, alive. Seungkwan tugged his jacket closer, half from nerves, half from the chill.

Beside him, Vernon nudged his arm lightly.

“Hey,” he said. “If you trip in front of everyone, I’ll pretend I don’t know you.”

“Wow,” Seungkwan said flatly. “You’re a great friend.”

Vernon grinned. “I never said I was your friend.”

It was teasing — obviously. But for some reason, it made Seungkwan’s heart do that stupid flip again. He rolled his eyes, hoping it didn’t show on his face.

The morning light hit differently that day — sharper somehow, almost judgmental, like it knew they were supposed to be functioning university students again.

Wonwoo woke up to his alarm blaring at 7:30 a.m., stared at it for a full thirty seconds, and then hit snooze. Ten minutes later, he did the same thing again.

By the time he actually sat up, his phone read 8:24. First day of second year, and he already felt like skipping.

He rubbed his eyes, dragged himself out of bed, and pulled on a sweatshirt that didn’t smell too questionable. The apartment was quiet, which was suspicious. Too quiet.

Then — a crash from the kitchen. Followed by a string of muffled curses.

Wonwoo sighed. “Of course.”

When he padded in, Hoshi was halfway through burning toast, Jun was eating cold cereal straight from the box, and Woozi was nursing coffee at the table like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

“Morning,” Jun said, mouth full of cereal. “You look dead.”

“Feel dead,” Wonwoo replied, reaching for a mug. “You two trying to kill the flat this early in the morning?”

“I’m celebrating,” Hoshi said, waving the smoking toast around like a flag. “First day of second year, baby!”

“With burnt bread?”

“Symbolic,” Hoshi said seriously. “Represents resilience.”

“Represents carbon monoxide,” Woozi muttered.

Jun snorted, setting the cereal down. “Hey, at least he’s trying. I woke up twenty minutes ago and thought it was still summer.”

Hoshi hummed, pouring himself orange juice and spiking it with a little vodka when he thought no one was looking.

“I saw that,” Woozi said without looking up.

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Then mind your business.”

Wonwoo took a sip of his coffee and leaned against the counter, watching them. It was chaotic, loud, familiar — and weirdly comforting. They’d all survived their first year together, barely, and somehow they’d made it back here again.

“So, what’s the plan today?” Jun asked, stretching. “We all got our welcome seminar this afternoon, right?”

“Yeah,” Woozi said. “And a seminar for the creative students. You two should probably pretend you care.”

“I do care,” Hoshi said defensively. “I just care more about what’s for lunch.”

“You’re hopeless,” Woozi said, but the corners of his mouth softened.

Wonwoo smiled into his mug. “At least you’re consistent.”

“Hey, consistency is key,” Hoshi said, tapping his temple. “My brain is a temple.”

Jun rolled his eyes. “More like a crime scene.”

Hoshi ignored him. “Speaking of crimes, are we just not gonna talk about the group chat Jeonghan made yesterday? Because that was insane.”

“‘My stepchildren,’” Jun quoted, grinning. “That man needs therapy.”

Woozi groaned. “I muted it within five minutes.”

Hoshi gasped. “Rude. You missed the part where DK and Seungkwan started arguing about karaoke nights.”

Wonwoo chuckled quietly. “And when Hoshi tried to flirt with three people at once?”

“That was networking,” Hoshi said.

“Networking doesn’t usually involve heart emojis,” Jun said.

“Shut up,” Hoshi said.

Woozi smirked into his coffee. “You’re lucky Jeonghan didn’t screenshot.”

“Please, Jeonghan lives for chaos. He probably framed it,” Jun said.

The laughter settled into a comfortable hum as they all found their places — Jun on the couch scrolling aimlessly, Woozi typing something on his laptop, Hoshi leaning against the counter eating slightly burnt eggs.

Once they were all fed and awake, they started getting ready — Woozi stuffing his laptop into his bag, Jun trying to find his ID card, Hoshi spraying enough cologne to fumigate the hallway.

“You smell like a nightclub,” Woozi said.

“That’s the goal,” Hoshi replied proudly.

“Don’t forget we have that department mixer later,” Jun reminded.

“God,” Hoshi muttered. “More socialising.”

“More free drinks,” Jun corrected.

“Fair.”

Wonwoo slung his backpack over his shoulder and looked around at them — these ridiculous, loud, loveable idiots he somehow ended up living with.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Born ready,” Hoshi said.

Woozi rolled his eyes. “You literally woke up an hour ago.”

“And yet,” Hoshi said, grinning, “still thriving.”

Jun laughed as they stepped out of the flat, locking the door behind them.

Outside, the air buzzed with the kind of restless energy only the first day of term could bring — students spilling onto the pavements, buses full, the sound of laughter echoing from somewhere down the street.

For a moment, the four of them blended into it — four second-years walking toward campus with mismatched bags and barely-awake smiles, the weight of summer still lingering on their shoulders.

The flat smelled faintly of day old weed and men's shampoo — a very on-brand start to the first day of second year.

Mingyu stood in the kitchen, balancing a mug of coffee in one hand and a frying pan in the other. The mug read World’s Okayest Student — a gift from DK last year that somehow felt more accurate now than ever.

Behind him, the sound of a door slamming open made him jump, nearly spilling his coffee.

“Hyung, tell me why my alarm didn’t go off?” DK’s voice carried down the hallway before he appeared, hair sticking up in every possible direction.

Mingyu didn’t even turn around. “Because you stayed up till three watching football highlights again?”

“I was studying,” DK said, rubbing at his eyes.

Mingyu snorted. “Right. Studying the Premier League.”

“Knowledge is knowledge,” DK mumbled, grabbing a spoonful of Mingyu’s eggs straight from the pan.

“Bro—”

Before Mingyu could protest, Minghao’s door opened with a slow click. He stepped out already dressed in a clean shirt and loose trousers, looking way too composed for 9 a.m. on a Monday. His hair framed his face perfectly; his tone was calm, but his expression screamed that he’d had enough of both his flatmates before even speaking.

“Are you two always this loud in the morning?” Minghao asked, rubbing his temple.

“Yes,” Mingyu said.

“No,” DK said at the same time.

Minghao blinked at them. “Perfect. I love living with chaos.”

Mingyu smirked. “We prefer the term high energy household.”

“Call it what you want,” Minghao said, opening the fridge. “All I know is someone finished the almond milk again.”

DK pointed at Mingyu instantly. “Him.”

Mingyu turned, offended. “I literally don’t even drink that stuff.”

“Yeah, but you use it for your smoothies.”

“Okay, once!”

“Twice.”

Minghao sighed, shutting the fridge with a soft thud. “I’m living in a frat house.”

Mingyu flipped his eggs and grinned. “At least it’s a clean frat house.”

DK gestured to the overflowing sink. “You sure?”

They all stared at it for a moment — then Minghao just grabbed his bag and sighed. “I’m not dealing with this. You two figure it out.”

Mingyu called after him, “You’re welcome for breakfast, by the way!”

Minghao waved a hand without looking back. “I didn’t eat any of it.”

When the door to his room shut again, DK hopped onto the counter, swinging his legs. “So,” he said, chewing on a leftover piece of toast. “First day of second year. You nervous?”

Mingyu shrugged. “Not really. Just… not excited either.”

“Yeah, same.” DK paused. “Do you ever feel like we’re just doing all this out of habit? Like — lectures, assignments, pretending to have goals?”

Mingyu leaned against the counter. “Every day.”

They fell quiet for a moment — the kind of silence that wasn’t awkward, just honest. The sunlight from the window spilled across the table, catching on empty cups and notes scattered everywhere.

Mingyu broke it first, his voice softer. “You talked to Joshua lately?”

DK’s gaze flicked toward him. He hadn’t planned on bringing that up.

“No,” DK admitted after a beat, his usual brightness dimming slightly. “Not really since the party. I think he’s still pissed at me.”

Mingyu frowned. “You sure?”

“I mean, he has a right to be,” DK said, forcing a laugh that didn’t quite land. “I messed up. Said some dumb shit.”

Mingyu didn’t push. He just nodded, offering a quiet, “He’ll come around. He always does.”

“Yeah,” DK said, but it didn’t sound convinced.

Minghao reappeared then, slipping his phone into his pocket. “We leaving soon? I don’t want to show up late on the first day.”

Mingyu grabbed his bag and keys. “You mean the first day of pretending to care?”

“Exactly,” Minghao said with a faint smile.

They all shuffled out of the flat — DK still trying to fix his hair in the hallway mirror, Mingyu juggling his bag, phone, and travel mug, Minghao already halfway down the stairs.

Outside, the air was crisp, the morning sun low and sharp. 

The campus gates were busier than they’d ever seen them.

New faces clustered around maps, lanyards tangled, someone’s coffee spilling on the pavement. The sound of chatter and rolling suitcases mixed with the faint bass from a speaker somewhere near the quad.

Mingyu, Minghao, and DK wove through the crowd together — half awake, half alive — trying not to bump into first-years with overpacked rucksacks.

“Feels weird being back,” DK said, adjusting his bag strap. “Like, didn’t we just leave?”

“We did,” Minghao replied flatly. “Time is fake.”

“Honestly, you’re not wrong,” Mingyu muttered, squinting at the crowd ahead.
He thought he spotted someone familiar — light hair, a laugh that somehow carried even over the noise.

Sure enough, Jeonghan was leaning against the stone wall by the main entrance, sunglasses perched on his nose, one hand in his pocket, the other waving lazily when he saw them. Beside him stood Seungcheol, solid and calm as always, an easy grin spreading across his face.

“There’s our favourite trio of chaos,” Jeonghan called out as they approached.

“Speak for yourself,” Minghao replied. “I’m merely a victim.”

Seungcheol chuckled, giving him a nod of greeting. “First day back. You boys ready?”

Mingyu shrugged. “Define ready.”

“Not hungover and actually dressed?” Jeonghan offered. “Because two out of three of you barely pass.”

DK groaned dramatically. “You can’t insult me before 10 a.m., Jeonghan hyung. It’s a human rights violation.”

“You’ll live,” Jeonghan said, patting his shoulder. “Besides, you look adorable when you’re struggling.”

Seungcheol shook his head, suppressing a laugh. “Ignore him. He’s just thrilled to see everyone again. He made us get here early for the drama of a reunion.”

“I call it punctuality,” Jeonghan said with a grin. “Anyway, how’s the flat? Still intact?”

Mingyu rubbed the back of his neck. “Barely. We survived breakfast though.”

“Impressive,” Seungcheol said. “That’s more than I can say for ours. I had to drag Hannie out of bed at least 8 times.”

Jeonghan gasped, feigning offence. “Hey at least we weren’t late.”

“Barely,” Seungcheol muttered.

Minghao smiled faintly at that, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Good to know nothing’s changed.”

Jeonghan hummed. “Oh, things change eventually. Just… slowly. Like Seungcheol admitting I’m right about anything.”

Seungcheol laughed, throwing an arm around him. “Never happening.”

The five of them lingered at the entrance, letting the noise of the campus wash over them — students reuniting, professors hurrying past, the smell of coffee and fresh air mixing in the breeze.

DK checked his phone. “We should probably go. My seminar’s in like ten minutes.”

“Same,” Minghao said, already turning toward the building across the quad.

Jeonghan groaned. “Ugh, don’t remind me. I’ve got a morning lecture. Who schedules psychology before noon?”

“Sadists,” Seungcheol said, giving him a peck on the lips.

They all laughed softly, the sound almost swallowed by the buzz of the morning crowd.

Mingyu adjusted his bag and smiled faintly at them. “See you guys later?”

“Yeah,” Jeonghan said. “Lunch in the quad maybe. Bring your friends — the chaos ones.”

DK pointed at himself proudly. “That’s me!”

“We know,” Minghao said dryly.

They started to part ways, the group naturally splitting toward different buildings. DK jogged ahead toward the arts block, humming something under his breath; Minghao followed, earbuds already in.

Mingyu lingered for a second longer, glancing back toward Jeonghan and Seungcheol as they disappeared into the main hall, still bickering softly.

For a brief moment, the morning sunlight caught on the windows, and Mingyu felt that strange, quiet pang again.

Everything looked familiar, yet it all felt slightly off-kilter, like stepping into the same scene from a dream you couldn’t quite remember.

He took a deep breath, adjusted his strap again, and started toward his own seminar room.

Chapter Text

Joshua sat somewhere in the middle of the seminar room — not too close to the front to look overeager, not too far back to seem disengaged. The kind of middle spot that let him blend in. The building was old, the kind with tall windows and the faint smell of books that had lived too many lives.

He had his notebook open, pen resting on the page, though he hadn’t written anything yet. Around him, people shuffled papers, adjusted laptops, whispered hellos. It was the first theology and ethics seminar of the semester, third year, and somehow it still felt like the first day of school.

The professor started talking right away — no icebreakers, no small talk. “Third year,” she said, pacing slowly at the front, “isn’t about memorising arguments anymore. It’s about questioning how far you’re willing to take your own beliefs.”

Joshua leaned back in his chair, eyes following her as she spoke. She had that calm, deliberate tone that demanded attention. “By this point,” she continued, “you’ve read theories, debated morality, maybe even thought you’ve figured some of it out. But if this year does its job, you’ll realise you haven’t. You’ll leave here with more questions than answers — and that’s the point.”

The class stayed quiet, listening. A few people typed notes furiously. Joshua didn’t move, but something about her words tugged at him.

The discussion started on moral relativism — if right and wrong could ever be universal. A girl beside him argued confidently that morality was subjective, built from culture and circumstance. Joshua listened, nodding faintly, his pen finally moving.

But half his brain was somewhere else.

He hadn’t really slept last night. The flat was quiet, too quiet. DK hadn’t said a word to him since the party. Every time Joshua thought about it, his stomach turned — guilt, confusion, regret all blending together. He’d told himself he’d done the right thing. He’d been honest. But honesty didn’t make it hurt less.

The professor’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Joshua? What do you think?”

He blinked, realizing everyone was looking at him. “Uh—” He straightened a little, forcing a small smile. “I think… people like to believe morality’s relative, because it makes it easier to justify what they’ve already decided to do.”

The professor raised an eyebrow, clearly interested. “So you think people make choices first, and find morals later?”

Joshua nodded slowly. “Yeah. Maybe we don’t actually care about what’s right — just what feels right at the time.”

There was a short silence. Then the professor hummed thoughtfully, moving on. But Joshua felt that lingering echo — the way his own words sat in his chest longer than they should have.

He wrote something down just to have his hand move, but the page stayed mostly empty. His mind drifted — DK’s voice, that look on his face, the way the air had felt after he’d walked away.

The seminar moved on to group discussions. Joshua ended up with two other students, both chatty, both trying too hard. He smiled, nodded, contributed when needed, but his thoughts were elsewhere. The rhythm of their voices blurred into background noise.

When the professor called time, Joshua gathered his things slowly, letting everyone else leave first. He watched the morning light spill through the tall windows, catching dust in the air.

He wondered when things had started feeling so heavy — when being honest had turned into something that felt like lying.

Outside, the corridor buzzed with the sound of other seminars starting, people laughing, the low hum of campus coming back to life. Joshua slipped his notebook into his bag and took one last glance at the now-empty room.

He wasn’t sure if he felt enlightened or just tired.

Probably the latter.

The lecture hall was already half full when Hoshi, Woozi, and Jun walked in — the usual pre-class mess of chatter, backpacks dumped in aisles, and someone loudly trying to connect their AirPods.

Hoshi stopped halfway down the stairs. “We sitting here?”

Jun shrugged. “Middle’s fine. Don’t wanna look like we care too much.”

Woozi didn’t even answer, just dropped into a seat, already pulling his notebook out like he was clocking in for a shift.

Hoshi sat beside him, spinning his pen between his fingers. “Why’s it so bright in here? I feel like I’m being interrogated.”

“Because you are,” Jun said. “By God, for your life choices.”

Woozi glanced up. “You’d both fail that interview.”

Hoshi snorted. “You say that like you’d pass.”

“I would,” Woozi said flatly. “I’d charm Him with logic.”

“Right, because that works on everyone,” Jun muttered, and Woozi gave him a look that could curdle milk.

Jun was already on his phone, texting.

HaoBao

Jun: where u lot

Jun: mid row, 4th down. hurry up b4 hoshi starts flirting w strangers

Hao: w dk. on our way. tell hoshi to shut up preemptively

Jun put his phone down. “They’re coming.”

“Good,” Woozi said. “Maybe DK can talk enough to drown you two out.”

Jun ignored him. “You think Minghao’s still in his ‘minimal effort’ era?”

“He’s coming to a 9 a.m. in sunglasses,” Hoshi said. “That’s not an era, that’s a lifestyle.”

Right on cue, Minghao and DK appeared — DK juggling two coffees, Minghao’s hoodie pulled over his head like he was avoiding paparazzi.

Hoshi waved dramatically. “My angels!”

DK shoved a cup into Woozi’s hand. “You looked like you’d kill me if I didn’t bring caffeine.”

“Correct,” Woozi said, taking a sip.

Hao sat next to Jun, tilting his head. “You look alive. That’s new.”

“Only because I haven’t processed being awake yet,” Jun replied.

DK stretched. “Alright, where’s everyone else?”

“Who’s ‘everyone else’?” Woozi asked.

DK shrugged. “I dunno. Whoever shows up and looks confused enough to adopt.”

As if summoned, a voice echoed from the door: “CHAN, THIS IS THE WRONG BUILDING.”

The whole row turned as Seungkwan stormed in, Dino trailing behind, both looking like they’d sprinted from across campus.

“I told you it said Creative Hall B!” Seungkwan hissed.

“And I told you there are three of those!” Dino shot back.

Hoshi grinned, cupping his hands around his mouth. “BABIES! OVER HERE!”

Dino blinked. “Do we… know them?”

Seungkwan squinted. “That’s the loud one from the party.”

“Oh. Great.”

Still, they came over, bags bumping against their legs, trying not to trip on the steps.

“Sit,” Hoshi said, patting the empty chairs like they were pets. “Welcome to hell.”

Dino dropped into a seat, breathless. “What seminar is this again?”

“Creative Arts,” DK said. “Basically the uni version of a group chat — everyone’s here, no one knows why.”

Seungkwan groaned. “Perfect.”

Minghao leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking between the two of them. “You’re the first-years, right?”

“Unfortunately,” Seungkwan said.

“Relax,” Jun said. “You’ve already survived the hardest part — finding the room.”

Dino laughed weakly. “Barely.”

“Aw, you’ll fit right in,” Hoshi said. “You look equally traumatised.”

Woozi muttered, “You really know how to welcome people.”

Before anyone could reply, a man in a black polo walked down the steps to the front, balancing a stack of papers and a coffee the size of his head. “Alright, everyone,” he said, voice carrying easily over the noise, “phones down, brains on, pretend we’re all thrilled to be back.”

A few awkward laughs rippled through the hall.

“I’m Professor Kim,” he went on, setting his coffee down with a thud. “This isn’t a class, don’t panic — no assignments, no marking, not yet. This is just the welcome seminar for everyone in the School of Creative Arts — so music, film, theatre, design, dance, the lot of you.”

Hoshi leaned toward Jun. “Oh good, chaos confirmed.”

“Like we didn’t know,” Jun muttered.

Professor Kim continued, scrolling through a slideshow that no one could quite see. “We’re not here to scare you. This is just a run-through — what’s new, where to go, who to email when you inevitably cry over editing software or lighting rigs. Standard stuff.”

Woozi scribbled something down, already looking bored. Hoshi leaned over to peek.
“Are you taking notes?”

“Trying to calculate how many weeks until I drop out,” Woozi said.

Professor Kim shot a look toward their row. “You’ll find the studios, theatres, and rehearsal rooms across campus. You’ll all have access to shared facilities — so, please, clean up after yourselves. Last year someone left a wig in the microwave.”

Hoshi grinned. “Oh, I like this place already.”

Minghao whispered, “Of course you do.”

The professor kept talking — names of tutors, lists of optional workshops, reminders about safety briefings. DK tried to follow along until Seungkwan nudged him.

“What’s a ‘practical allocation meeting’?” he whispered.

“Probably something we’ll skip,” DK whispered back.

Dino was slouched so far in his chair he might as well have been horizontal. “He’s been talking for twenty minutes. How’s he still going?”

Jun leaned in. “Years of practice. That’s a man who loves the sound of his own PowerPoint.”

Professor Kim clapped his hands once, snapping them out of their whispers. “Alright. That’s everything from me. Go explore the building, meet your course leads, steal a free pen from reception. Try not to break anything. Welcome back — and for the new ones, welcome to the madness.”

A ripple of applause spread half-heartedly through the room.

Hoshi stretched his arms above his head. “That’s it? I was ready for emotional damage.”

Woozi zipped his bag shut. “Give it a week.”

“Lunch?” Hoshi asked, already standing.

Minghao raised a brow. “You’re always hungry.”

Dino blinked. “Already?”

“Yes, already,” Hoshi said. “Education burns calories.”

Minghao stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “You just want an excuse to eat.”

“Correct,” Hoshi said. “And I need fries to process trauma.”

Jun was already on his phone. “Group chat says the others finished too.”

“Perfect,” DK said, stretching. “Let’s all go cause a scene in the cafeteria.”

Woozi zipped his bag. “You always say that like it’s not the plan.”

And with that, they spilled out of the lecture hall — a mismatched trail of chatter, caffeine, and half-formed friendships — the kind of start that never felt neat, but somehow, already made sense.

Halfway through the lecture, Wonwoo’s notebook lay open in front of him, a neat spiral of inked lines that mostly didn’t make sense. The lecturer’s voice droned on about narrative perspective and how authors manipulate readers’ empathy, but his mind kept wandering.

He adjusted his glasses and leaned back slightly, glancing down at his phone under the desk. A new string of notifications blinked across the screen:

my stepchildren

Hoshi: someone bring coffee plz i’m dying

Jun: i literally just had one

DK: i’ll be there in 10 minutes, no complaints

Minghao: can we not die before lunch

Wonwoo scrolled slowly, suppressing a small smile. Hoshi was clearly panicking over minor things, Minghao looked perpetually unimpressed, and DK was already plotting how to energize the group. He tapped a thumbs-up emoji and tucked the phone back into his bag. Safe, small, invisible participation.

The lecturer paused to point out a line in the text. “Notice how the narrator’s unreliability shapes your understanding,” she said, eyes scanning the room. Students nodded, scribbled furiously, but Wonwoo’s gaze drifted again. He imagined DK rolling his eyes at Hoshi’s antics, Jun pretending to be above it all while secretly laughing, and Minghao sighing like he was morally superior to everything.

A few minutes later, another notification popped up — the group chat was alive again, debating lunch plans, arguing over whether to go for sandwiches or sushi, and sending a barrage of laughing emojis. Wonwoo’s chest tightened in that familiar mix of amusement and quiet longing. He wasn’t with them in person yet, but their chaos somehow made the lecture less suffocating.

He shifted in his seat, letting his pen hover over the notebook as he watched the screen. For a moment, he imagined sliding out of the hall, walking to the student center, and catching them before they could get too comfortable. The thought alone made the afternoon feel lighter.

When the lecture finally edged toward a pause, Wonwoo packed up slowly, savoring the small ritual. The crisp autumn sunlight outside promised warmth and movement. He slipped his bag over his shoulder, checking the map on his phone and scrolling through the chat once more.

They were all already at the student center, laughing, maybe slightly hungover, still chaotic in the way that made him feel… oddly at home. He started walking toward them, careful but eager, letting the anticipation pull him through the quiet campus streets.

Chapter Text

The canteen was loud — not chaotically, just enough to make conversation dip and rise over the hum of chatter and clinking cutlery.
Late autumn light pooled through the tall glass windows, making the space feel softer than usual.

They’d somehow all managed to fit around one of the larger tables near the back — trays and coffee cups scattered across it like a still-life of student life. Eleven people, too many conversations happening at once, and yet it all felt oddly balanced.

Hoshi was already halfway through a protein bar he didn’t like but insisted on finishing. “You’d think after paying nine grand a year, they’d at least give us edible food.”

Jeonghan looked up from his salad, smirking. “That implies you actually bought it from here.”

Hoshi grinned, “You think I have the money for that?”

“That’s what the debt’s for,” Minghao muttered, phone face-down beside his tray.

S.Coups laughed quietly, resting his chin on his hand. “You lot complain too much. Back in my day—”

“Don’t start,” Jeonghan cut in immediately, taking a sip of his drink. “We get it. You’re ancient.”

“I’m literally two years older,” S.Coups said, feigning offence.

Jun leaned over, whispering to Hoshi, “He’s been saying that since orientation.”

Hoshi stifled a laugh. “Some things never change.”

Across the table, DK was slowly picking apart a sandwich he’d made that morning. He looked up when Mingyu reached over and stole a crisp from his packet.

“Seriously?” DK said flatly.

Mingyu shrugged. “You weren’t eating them.”

“I was saving them.”

“For what? The apocalypse?”

DK glared but didn’t argue.

Seungkwan was the first to speak, leaning back on his chair, chewing a mouthful of sandwich. “Is anyone else already behind, or am I just overachieving at failing?”

Dino glanced up from his lunch. “We’ve had one seminar. There’s no content to even fail yet.”

“You’d be surprised,” Seungkwan sighed, tossing his crust onto his napkin.

That earned a few quiet laughs — the kind that carried just enough edge to remind them all of last week. The memory of the party hung there, faint and unspoken, until Hoshi decided to bulldoze through it.

“Yeah, well,” he said, “some of us barely remember last week.”

Minghao gave him a look over his coffee. “That’s because you drank like you had something to prove.”

Jun chuckled. “And still made it to class on time.”

“Barely,” Hoshi said proudly. “I’m a man of many talents.”

Woozi, without looking up from the salad he clearly didn’t want to eat, muttered, “You looked like you’d just come back from the dead.”

“From the club or life in general?”

“Both,” Woozi said, and the faintest smile tugged at his mouth.

It was easy for the conversation to spiral after that — it always was with them. Jun told a story about someone in his seminar filming their first project entirely out of focus; DK tried to explain a film he’d seen but kept forgetting the plot halfway through; Hoshi kept cutting in with sound effects that made it even worse.

Minghao leaned back, unimpressed but amused. “How do you people even function?”

“Badly,” DK said.

But Wonwoo wasn’t really in on the laughter. He was there — listening, smiling at the right moments — but half his mind was elsewhere. Mingyu was sitting opposite him, half scrolling through his phone, half listening to whatever DK was saying. His hair was still slightly damp from the morning shower, and he looked too put together for someone who’d claimed to have no sleep.

Every so often, Wonwoo caught himself glancing up. Not intentionally — or so he told himself — but enough that Woozi, sitting beside him, noticed.

“So, Wonwoo,” Hoshi said suddenly, stabbing at his food with a plastic fork, “how’s English treating you this year? Still writing things that sound deep but mean absolutely nothing?”

Wonwoo blinked, caught off guard. “Something like that,” he said. “Mostly just pretending I know what I’m saying.”

Mingyu looked up then, a quick half-smile flickering across his face. “That’s basically what they teach in architecture too.”

Woozi glanced between them. “So both your degrees are built on lies.”

“Exactly,” Mingyu said, chuckling softly.

Wonwoo smiled back — or tried to — but it felt tight, practiced. “You’d know a thing or two about pretending.”

He didn’t mean for it to sound sharp, but it landed that way.

Mingyu’s smile faltered. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Wonwoo said quickly. “It was just a joke.”

“Didn’t sound like one.”

A small silence followed, awkward enough for Woozi to clear his throat and lean forward slightly. “Okay,” he said, tone even but firm. “No philosophy debates over lunch.”

Hoshi grinned. “Yeah, let’s not ruin my appetite with feelings.”

Jun laughed. “That ship sailed the moment DK started talking about film.”

“Excuse you,” DK said, clutching his chest in mock offence. “I’m the glue that holds this group together.”

Minghao smirked. “You’re the reason we all need therapy.”

That got them laughing again, a real sound this time — messy and loud and easy. The tension slipped away like it hadn’t even been there.

They talked about classes after that, about people-watching in lectures, about how Seungkwan had managed to join three societies in two days. Hoshi claimed he’d sign up for the dance team just to “keep the legacy alive,” Jun said he’d rather die, and Dino nearly spat out his drink laughing.

The lunch hour stretched on, sunlight streaming through the windows, half-empty trays and scattered wrappers between them. It felt familiar — maybe even comforting — the way things always did when you pretended nothing was wrong.

By the time they packed up to leave, the noise of the canteen had dulled into background chatter. Woozi fell into step beside Wonwoo as they headed for the door, hands shoved into his pockets.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

Wonwoo nodded once. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Woozi didn’t push. “Right.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence — not uncomfortable, just... quiet.

And as the group slowly drifted off in different directions, laughter echoing faintly down the hall, it was hard to tell whether things were really fine — or if everyone had just gotten better at pretending they were.

Chapter Text

The university garden was mostly empty — just patches of grass and scattered benches glinting under the late afternoon sun. A light haze hung in the air, the kind that made everything feel a little slower.

Vernon flicked the lighter once, twice, before it caught. The joint sparked, smoke curling up against the wind. He took a drag, passed it over.

Joshua accepted it easily, like muscle memory. “You know,” he said, exhaling, “for someone who swears he’s low-key, you light up in public a lot.”

Vernon smirked. “Garden’s technically not public. It’s… nature.”

“Right. Because security’s definitely on board with your definition.”

“Relax,” Vernon said, leaning back against the bench. “You look like you need it more than me.”

Joshua laughed quietly. “Probably do.”

They sat like that for a while — passing it back and forth, not talking much. The air smelled faintly of cut grass and something burned sweet at the edges.

It was Joshua who broke the silence first. “You ever notice how people treat relationships like group projects? Everyone’s either pretending to help or waiting for it to fall apart.”

Vernon raised an eyebrow. “That a metaphor or a confession?”

“Little of both,” Joshua said. “Me and DK aren’t exactly… aligned right now.”

Vernon nodded slowly. “Still about the party?”

“Yeah.” Joshua looked down at the grass between his shoes. “It wasn’t even a fight, really. Just… too many things said all at once. He’s got this way of making me feel like I’m both everything and not enough, depending on the minute.”

“That’s heavy,” Vernon said, then added, “Want another hit?”

Joshua smiled faintly. “Sure.”

The smoke drifted out of his mouth in thin, steady ribbons. “I don’t even know what we are right now. Friends? Exes? Something between the parentheses?”

Vernon hummed. “Maybe stop trying to label it.”

“Yeah, well,” Joshua said, “labels make it easier to know when to walk away.”

The breeze caught, blowing smoke into Vernon’s face. He coughed lightly, handed the joint back. “You sound like a sad poem.”

“You sound like someone avoiding their own topic.”

Vernon froze halfway through a laugh. “What do you mean?”

Joshua tilted his head. “You’ve been quiet about Seungkwan.”

That made Vernon snort, sharp and humourless. “What’s there to say?”

“Apparently enough that you’ve been weird since it happened.”

Vernon didn’t look at him — just stared at the patch of sky between the trees. “It wasn’t supposed to mean anything.”

“Did it?”

He hesitated, thumb worrying at the seam of his jeans. “I don’t know. It was a kiss. Stupid, fast, probably the alcohol. But now I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Joshua nodded, not pushing. “Thinking like you regret it, or thinking like you don’t know what it meant?”

Vernon let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Both.”

For a moment, all they heard were footsteps somewhere behind the hedges — someone laughing too loudly, a door slamming shut in the distance. The world carried on, oblivious.

“I just…” Vernon said finally. “He’s loud. He fills every space he walks into. I don’t usually care about that kind of energy, but with him… I notice.”

Joshua studied him. “That doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“It doesn’t sound like something either,” Vernon muttered.

“Sure it does.”

Vernon frowned. “You overanalyse for a theology major.”

Joshua grinned. “That’s literally my job.”

Silence again — but softer this time. The smoke burned down to a filter, and Joshua stubbed it out against the bench leg, brushing ash from his fingers.

“Want advice?” he asked.

“From you?” Vernon scoffed. “You just said you might be emotionally homeless.”

Joshua shrugged. “Still got experience in bad decisions.”

Vernon smirked. “Go ahead.”

“Don’t decide what it is while you’re trying to feel it,” Joshua said. “Let it be messy for a bit.”

Vernon looked at him, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. “That’s weirdly wise for someone who just called himself a disaster.”

Joshua smiled faintly. “I contain multitudes.”

The sun was beginning to dip then, throwing long shadows across the grass. Vernon stood, stretching. “We should head back before someone decides to write us up.”

“Yeah.” Joshua got up too, brushing off his jeans. “Thanks for—whatever this was.”

Vernon shoved his hands in his pockets. “Anytime. You’re less depressing high.”

“Noted.”

They started walking back toward the main path, the hum of campus life growing louder the closer they got.

Behind them, smoke still hung faintly in the air — soft, slow, and fading.

Chapter Text

The studio still smelled faintly like coffee and glue. Big tables, cluttered with cutting mats, sketches, and abandoned pens. Mingyu dropped his bag next to a stool and sat, exhaling like he’d just run a marathon — even though all he’d done was walk up two flights of stairs.

He wasn’t late, but he looked it.

“Rough morning?” one of his classmates, Simon, asked from across the table, leaning back in his chair with a grin.

“Rough day,” Mingyu said. “And it’s only two o’clock.”

“Second year’s already hitting you that hard?”

“More like the hangover yesterday.”

A few others at the table laughed quietly. The first-day energy was still there — everyone pretending to be put together while secretly half-asleep. Someone’s AirPods case clattered to the floor; someone else was eating instant noodles out of a takeaway cup.

Mingyu rested his chin in his palm, zoning out slightly as Ms. Choi spoke about deadlines, portfolios, and professionalism. 

“Mingyu,” Ms. Choi called suddenly.

He blinked. “Uh, yeah?”

“Would you mind telling us what you think is most important in design communication?”

He paused. “...Words?”

Half the class laughed, including Ms. Choi. “Points for honesty.”

He grinned sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “I meant, like, how you explain an idea, not just— never mind.”

“It’s fine,” she said, smiling. “Keep that in mind, though — you’ll need to communicate a lot this year.”

“Yeah,” Mingyu muttered. “I’m working on it.”

Simon elbowed him once she turned away. “Man, that was painful.”

“Tell me about it.”

“You looked like your brain blue-screened.”

“It did,” Mingyu admitted, slouching back and stretching his legs under the table. “Full system crash.”

Simon laughed. “What were you even thinking about?”

“Honestly?” Mingyu exhaled, staring down at the smudged pencil lines on his sketchbook. “Nothing that had to do with architecture.”

Simon raised a brow. “So… a who, not a what situation?”

Mingyu shot him a half-smile. “You’re way too observant for someone who still can’t work AutoCAD.”

“Deflection noted,” Simon said, grinning. “But hey—whatever’s eating you, shake it off before the real work starts. You know how Choi gets once she brings out the models.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mingyu said. “No emotional baggage near the foam cutters. Got it.”

Simon chuckled. “Exactly.”

They got dismissed an hour later. Ms. Choi told them to “take the week to settle back in” — which was code for we’ll be suffering soon enough. Mingyu packed his things slowly, letting most of the class leave first. The studio felt calmer once the noise died down.

He checked his phone — the group chat was still active.

DK: leaving studio soon where are u

Minghao: outside by the benches

Hannie: i found coups he’s coming too

        Gyu: two mins

He sighed, slinging his bag over his shoulder, and headed out. The air outside was cool, carrying that faint dampness of early autumn. The campus lights were flicking on one by one, gold pools cutting through the grey.

The group was easy to spot — DK half-lying across the bench, Minghao sitting beside him with his hood up, Jeonghan standing with a coffee cup he definitely didn’t buy from the uni café, and Seungcheol next to him, hands in his pockets, hair pushed back like he’d already had a long day.

“Took you long enough,” DK said.

“I was being grilled about design communication,” Mingyu replied. “Apparently I don’t communicate enough.”

“Fair,” Minghao said without looking up from his phone.

“Did you at least make something cool?” Seungcheol asked, voice calm, the way it always was — like he had infinite patience for chaos.

“Barely. My brain’s still buffering.”

Jeonghan smirked. “That’s been happening since last year.”

Mingyu rolled his eyes, but there was no bite to it. “You’d know.”

“Someone has to keep track of your progress,” Jeonghan said lightly.

“Or lack thereof,” Minghao muttered.

DK laughed, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Okay, children, can we go home before I collapse? I’ve been running on caffeine and good vibes all day.”

“Good vibes from who?” Jeonghan asked.

“From myself,” DK said proudly. “I’m self-sufficient.”

“Liar,” Minghao said.

They started walking toward the main gates, a slow procession of end-of-day exhaustion. The air buzzed faintly with other students’ chatter, the sound of doors shutting, bikes rattling over pavement.

Seungcheol walked a little ahead with Jeonghan, the two talking quietly — something about class schedules, about how weird it felt to be back. Mingyu caught only fragments, the kind that slipped easily through the noise.

Behind them, DK was rambling about dinner. “We’re ordering, right? I don’t have it in me to chop onions.”

“When have you ever chopped onions?” Minghao said.

“That’s not the point.”

“It’s literally the point.”

“So, first day down,” Seungcheol interrupted, pausing to stretch his neck. “Everyone still alive?”

“Barely,” DK said.

“Same,” Minghao added.

Mingyu just hummed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”

Jeonghan smirked, giving a small wave as he turned away. “You’ll be fine. You’ve got each other to suffer with.”

Minghao raised a brow. “Inspirational.”

“That’s us,” Jeonghan said, before disappearing around the corner with Seungcheol.

The walk back was quieter — that end-of-day kind of silence, where words felt too heavy to bother with. The sky had dimmed into a muted blue, streetlights flickering to life above them.

DK kicked at a pebble, sending it skittering ahead. “Tomorrow’s gonna be worse, huh?”

Minghao exhaled a laugh. “Probably.”

“Cool,” DK said. “Can’t wait to repeat this cycle till I graduate.”

They reached the gate to their building, the familiar buzz of the entry system echoing as Dino tapped his card. Inside, the hallway was quiet except for the faint hum of a distant vacuum and the occasional door shutting somewhere down the corridor.

They head straight into their shared kitchen, the evidence of this morning’s ruckus still not cleaned up.

“You hungry?” Dino asked.

“Had a granola bar at like eleven.”

“Tragic.”

“You offering dinner, or just judging?”

“I can do both.” Dino pushed open the kitchen door. “I’ve got leftover ramen.”

“Why do you always have leftover ramen?”

“Because I always make too much.”

“Or because you’re too lazy to cook again,” Seungkwan said, following him in.

“Semantics.”

While Dino reheated the food, Seungkwan perched on the counter, scrolling through his phone. “You think everyone’s gone home already?”

“Probably still on campus pretending to study.”

“Fair point.”

The microwave beeped, and Dino handed him a bowl. Seungkwan wrinkled his nose. “This looks like a health code violation.”

“Then don’t eat it.”

“I didn’t say that,” Seungkwan said quickly, already taking the bowl.

They sat at the counter, the faint hum of the fridge filling the silence.

After a moment, Seungkwan said, “It’s kinda nice though. Just… quiet.”

“Yeah.” Dino slurped his noodles. “No one’s drunk, no one’s crying. Peaceful.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“Little bit.”

Seungkwan smiled around a mouthful of ramen. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, but I’m a fun one.”

“Debatable.”

They ate for a while, talking about nothing in particular — their weird professors, the guy they saw earlier carrying three iced coffees and no shame, someone in their block who kept singing in the shower at 3 a.m.

At some point, Seungkwan leaned back in his chair, half-laughing. “I feel like we’re already in a sitcom.”

“Yeah,” Dino said, grinning. “Except no one’s paying us.”

“Yet.”

Dino glanced up. “You planning on monetising our suffering?”

“Obviously. Someone has to.”

They laughed again, and for once, it didn’t feel like they were still catching up to everything — the chaos, the new faces, the leftover tension from the week before.

Just two friends, a quiet kitchen, and really bad ramen.

Chapter Text

The library was quiet in the way it always got after four — not silent, just softened around the edges. The hum of the old radiators and the faint shuffle of pages layered over the sound of typing, a steady rhythm that filled the spaces words didn’t. Jun slid into the seat across from Wonwoo, his headphones hanging loose around his neck, a half-empty bottle of some fizzy drink in hand. His hair was a little messy, his expression somewhere between tired and amused.

“You’ve been here for two hours,” he said, lowering his voice just enough to not earn a glare from the librarian. “I checked your location.”

Wonwoo didn’t look up from his laptop. “Creepy.”

“Efficient,” Jun said easily, dropping his bag onto the floor with a thud. “Anyway, thought I’d keep you company. Film class ended early because our lecturer’s allergic to enthusiasm.”

“Lucky you.”

Jun grinned, leaning back. “You look like you’ve seen the abyss.”

“I’m writing about Milton,” Wonwoo said flatly. “I am the abyss.”

That earned a low laugh — the kind that came from familiarity, from years of watching each other crumble under different types of deadlines.

“Man, every time I visit, you’re either depressed about literature or pretending you’re fine about it.”

“I contain multitudes.”

Jun raised a brow. “See, that’s exactly what an English major would say.”

Wonwoo’s lips twitched, but his eyes stayed fixed on the blinking cursor, the half-finished sentence on his screen staring back at him like a dare. He’d rewritten the same paragraph three times, each version sounding worse than the last.

Jun noticed the tension but didn’t comment. Instead, he pulled out his own laptop, the familiar mess of project files and half-edited clips lighting up the screen. For a while, they worked — or at least, they both pretended to. The sound of typing, clicking, the faint hum of the lights — it was all strangely grounding.

Wonwoo’s phone buzzed once. He ignored it. Jun caught the flicker of his eyes toward it anyway.

“Who was that?” he asked, not looking up.

“Just Mingyu,” Wonwoo said, too casually.

Jun hummed, eyes still on his laptop. “You two still hanging out?”

“Sometimes.”

“Cool.”

He didn’t push, didn’t tease — just nodded and went back to trimming clips. 

After a minute, Jun smirked faintly to himself. “You know, I never really get how you manage to be friends with literally everyone and still act like you don’t care.”

Wonwoo exhaled, finally leaning back a little. “I’m selective.”

“Selective, my ass. You just have resting unreadable face.”

“That’s a skill.”

They both laughed under their breath, the sound carrying softly through the rows of books, mixing with the occasional rustle of paper or the librarian’s footsteps.

Jun stretched his arms, closing his laptop halfway. “You ever think about dating again? Like, seriously.”

Wonwoo blinked, caught off guard. “That’s random.”

Jun shrugged. “Just wondering. You haven’t really… been into anyone for a while.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Doing what? Reading Paradise Lost and hating yourself?”

“Exactly.”

Jun smiled. “You could at least pretend to be interested in someone. For science.”

Wonwoo huffed out a quiet laugh. “That’s what your degree’s for.”

“Touché,” Jun said, grinning. “But for real — if you met someone, would you even know how to flirt anymore?”

“Probably not.”

Jun tilted his head. “You’d try to quote a book.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“You totally would. You’d say something like ‘your eyes remind me of tragic foreshadowing.’”

Wonwoo laughed properly this time, the sound low but warm. “I hate you.”

“Love you too,” Jun said lightly, tapping his pencil against his notebook.

Wonwoo glanced at Jun, who was now absently spinning his pen, eyes wandering over the rows of shelves behind him. It was easy, being like this. Familiar in a way that felt unshakable. Outside, the late afternoon light shifted, catching on the glass panes and throwing soft amber stripes across the table. Wonwoo’s laptop dimmed automatically, reminding him he’d been sitting there too long.

Jun noticed him zoning out. “You hungry?”

“Always.”

“Then close that laptop,” Jun said, stretching as he stood. “You’re not gonna finish whatever essay you’re pretending to write.”

Wonwoo hesitated, eyes flicking to the half-written paragraph again — then sighed and shut it. “You buying?”

“Depends,” Jun said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Will you admit The Great Gatsby isn’t that deep?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then I guess we’re splitting the bill.”

Wonwoo smiled as he stood, packing up slowly. “Fine. But I’m picking the place.”

“Deal.”

They walked out into the crisp evening air, the scent of rain and coffee lingering faintly around campus. The light had gone soft — students sitting on benches, laughter spilling from somewhere near the café.

Jun nudged him lightly. “See? Sometimes you just need a break.”

Wonwoo rolled his eyes but there was a small curve to his mouth. “Don’t make this a lesson.”

“Too late,” Jun said. “I’m deep like that.”

“Tragic foreshadowing,” Wonwoo muttered.

Jun grinned. “See? You do flirt through books.”

Wonwoo didn’t bother denying it — just kept walking, the sound of their footsteps falling into rhythm as the last bit of sunlight stretched long across the path ahead.

The little diner near campus wasn’t busy — just a few students scattered between tables, half-eaten meals and open laptops glowing under tired yellow lights. The windows had fogged up slightly from the heat, and the hum of conversation was low, steady, like background noise in a film.

Jun sat across from Wonwoo, fiddling with the straw in his drink. He’d ordered jjajangmyeon again, because he always did. Wonwoo had gone for the same, laptop shoved into his bag beside him like he was trying to forget it existed.

Jun spoke first. “You ever notice this place never changes? Like, it’s been the same since first year.”

Wonwoo glanced around. “That’s probably because no one’s invested in interior design.”

Jun huffed a laugh. “I like that about it. It’s comforting. Depressing, but comforting.”

They fell into a quiet rhythm, eating without much urgency. Outside, the light had gone that soft grey-blue that always made the buildings look older.

Jun set his chopsticks down for a second, leaning on his elbow. “Minghao’s been quiet lately.”

Wonwoo looked up at him, not surprised — just waiting.

“Not in a bad way,” Jun continued. “Just… different. Like he’s in his own head. I don’t know if I should ask or just let him be.”

“Have you tried asking?” Wonwoo said.

“I did.” Jun’s mouth twisted. “He said he’s fine. And I believe him, but also… I kind of don’t.”

Wonwoo nodded, not judging. “He’s not great with words when it comes to feelings.”

“Yeah,” Jun said quietly. “That’s the thing. He’ll say something small, something that sounds like nothing, and I’ll end up thinking about it for hours. Drives me insane.”

“You care,” Wonwoo said simply.

“Obviously,” Jun replied. “That’s the problem. I care too much, and he never says what’s actually on his mind, so I start trying to read between the lines. Which just makes everything worse.”

Wonwoo stirred his noodles absently. “You think he’s pulling away?”

“I don’t think so,” Jun said after a moment. “He still texts, still wants to hang out. It’s just… I feel like we’re out of sync lately. You know?”

Wonwoo nodded, pushing his noodles around with his chopsticks. “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

Jun smiled faintly at that. “Maybe. It’s different this time though. I’m learning that sometimes you just… can’t help people through everything.”

“Sometimes they just need to sit in it for a bit,” Wonwoo said softly.

“Exactly,” Jun said. “You get it.”

Wonwoo hummed in agreement, still not looking up.

Jun studied him for a moment, then leaned forward. “Alright, what about you?”

“What about me?”

“You’ve been off too. Not in a dramatic way, just… quieter.”

Wonwoo huffed out a laugh. “You’re observant today.”

“I’m nosy every day,” Jun said easily. “So, what’s up?”

Wonwoo hesitated, his chopsticks stilled mid-air. “Nothing big. Just… thinking about people, I guess.”

Jun raised an eyebrow. “Specific people, or is this a group reflection?”

Wonwoo tried to look unimpressed, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him. “You’re annoying.”

“And you’re deflecting,” Jun said. “Come on. It’s Mingyu, right?”

That got him. Wonwoo blinked, then laughed once, quiet and disbelieving. “You’re reaching.”

“Am I?” Jun tilted his head. “You do this thing when you like someone. You pretend you don’t care, but you get this look — like you’re trying not to give something away.”

Wonwoo groaned. “You sound like a therapist.”

“Free of charge,” Jun said. “So?”

“So nothing,” Wonwoo said finally, tone soft but certain. “He’s just… Mingyu.”

“That’s the least convincing answer I’ve ever heard.”

“I don’t even know him that well,” Wonwoo admitted, fingers drumming against the table. “Not really. We talk sometimes. He’s funny. Kind of ridiculous. But that’s it.”

Jun watched him for a beat. “You sure that’s it?”

Wonwoo let out a slow breath. “I think I’m trying to convince myself it is.”

Jun nodded, not pushing. “That makes sense.”

Wonwoo frowned slightly, as if annoyed at his own honesty. “I don’t even know why I like him. It doesn’t make sense.”

“It never does,” Jun said. “That’s sort of the point.”

Wonwoo leaned back, eyes unfocused on the window beside them. “He just has this energy. The kind that pulls people in without meaning to. I hate that.”

“You don’t hate it,” Jun said.

“I hate what it does to me,” Wonwoo said quietly.

Jun smiled, soft but not teasing. “Then stop fighting it. You don’t have to do anything about it — just admit it to yourself. That’s step one.”

Wonwoo looked down at his hands. “You make it sound simple.”

“It is,” Jun said. “You’re the one complicating it.”

That made Wonwoo laugh, low and tired. “You really have been spending too much time with Minghao.”

“Probably,” Jun said. “He’s rubbing off on me.”

They both smiled then, the tension loosening just slightly.

After a while, the waitress came by to refill their water glasses. The sound of plates clinking and a blender running somewhere behind the counter filled the air. The diner lights buzzed faintly, catching in Jun’s hair when he leaned back again.They sat there for a while longer, watching people pass outside the fogged window. The streetlights had come on, their reflections trembling in puddles on the pavement.

Jun spoke again, softer now. “You’ll figure it out, you know. Whatever this thing with Mingyu is.”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo said, more to himself than to Jun. “I know.”

Jun nodded, finishing the last of his drink. “You always do.”

Wonwoo smiled faintly. “Eventually.”

“Eventually’s fine,” Jun said. “It’s not like we’re in a rush.”

They packed up slowly, neither of them eager to leave the warmth. When they stepped outside, the air was cool and damp, the smell of rain still hanging faintly.

Jun sighed, letting out a long breath. “You know, I’m glad we did this.”

“Eating noodles?” Wonwoo asked.

“Yeah,” Jun said. “And talking. You’re easy to talk to.”

Wonwoo smiled faintly. “That’s because I don’t interrupt.”

Jun smirked. “No, it’s because you actually listen.”

Wonwoo looked up at him then — steady, open — and said, “You do too.”

Jun grinned. “I’ll send you my therapy invoice later.”

Wonwoo rolled his eyes. “Add interest.”

“Already did.”

Chapter Text

By the time Jun reached Minghao’s flat, the corridor was quiet except for the faint hum of someone’s music leaking through a door down the hall. The air smelled faintly like detergent and something cooking — the familiar, lived-in scent of student housing.

He knocked lightly. The door opened almost instantly.

Minghao stood there, barefoot and warm-looking, his hair still damp from a shower. He wore a loose grey hoodie that hung just a little too big on him, sleeves covering half his hands. He smiled the moment he saw Jun — that small, unhurried kind of smile that reached his eyes.

“You’re early,” Minghao said softly.

Jun stepped closer. “You sound disappointed.”

Minghao leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, still smiling. “Not at all.”

Jun didn’t bother replying — he just leaned in, brushing a kiss against Minghao’s mouth. It wasn’t rushed or dramatic; it was the kind of kiss that came from knowing exactly where to find each other. Minghao’s fingers caught lightly in the collar of Jun’s jacket before he pulled him inside.

“Missed you,” Minghao murmured, voice quiet against Jun’s skin.

Jun’s hand came up to rest on the back of Minghao’s neck, thumb tracing small circles. “You saw me two days ago.”

“I still missed you,” Minghao said simply.

Jun smiled, faint and warm. “I missed you too.”

The sound of laughter came from the kitchen — DK’s voice unmistakable, followed by Mingyu saying something that made him laugh harder. Minghao groaned quietly.

“They’ve been cooking for nearly an hour,” he said. “It’s either going really well or really badly.”

“Let me guess,” Jun said. “Smoke alarm?”

“Not yet. But it’s early.”

They both laughed, and the tension in Jun’s shoulders eased. Minghao laced their fingers together, tugging him toward the kitchen.

Inside, the light was soft, the air a little warm. Mingyu was at the stove, concentrating far too hard on a pan of rice, while DK stood beside him with chopsticks in hand like he was about to stage an intervention.

“Smells good,” Jun offered.

“Does it?” DK said. “Because I can’t tell anymore.”

“It’s fine,” Mingyu said, half to himself. “It just looks… questionable.”

“That’s one word for it,” Minghao said, leaning against the counter beside Jun.

Jun grinned, watching them. “You two ever consider opening a restaurant? You’d make millions — in lawsuits.”

“Keep talking,” DK said, “and you won’t get any.”

Minghao nudged Jun lightly. “See? They’re bonding.”

They all ended up eating anyway — standing around the counter with mismatched bowls and too few chopsticks. The rice was a little too salty, the eggs overcooked, but nobody seemed to care. The conversation was easy — small talk, jokes, complaints about early classes.

Jun listened more than he spoke, watching Minghao out of the corner of his eye. The way he laughed, head tilted back slightly, the way his fingers brushed Jun’s hand every now and then without thinking. It was small, but grounding.

After they’d eaten, Mingyu disappeared to his room, muttering something about fixing a drawing, and DK announced he was going to “sleep off the trauma of cooking.” That left the flat quiet again — just the low hum of the fridge and the soft city noise through the slightly open window.

Jun leaned back against the counter, watching Minghao rinse the bowls. “You know,” he said quietly, “you don’t have to play house every time I come over.”

Minghao glanced over his shoulder. “You’re assuming I do this for you.”

“Do you?”

A small pause, then Minghao smiled. “Maybe.”

Jun crossed the small space, drying a bowl with the corner of a towel. 

“Sure,” Jun said, smirking. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Minghao said, rinsing a plate. He placed it down carefully before leaning against the counter next to Jun. “Just a bit tired.”

Jun looked at him for a second. “You’ve been kind of quiet lately.”

Minghao turned his head, meeting his eyes. “Have I?”

“Yeah,” Jun said. “Not in a bad way. Just feels like something’s on your mind.”

Minghao hesitated, then shrugged. “I guess I’ve just been overthinking stuff.”

“About what?”

“Uni. Us. Everything,” Minghao said, exhaling softly. “It’s not like anything’s wrong, I just… feel off.”

Jun nodded slowly, giving him space to find the words. “Off how?”

Minghao frowned, rubbing the back of his neck. “Like I’m falling behind. Everyone’s figuring things out, and I’m still trying to work out what I even want. Even with us — sometimes I worry I’m not giving you enough.”

Jun’s expression softened. “Hey,” he said quietly. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

“I know,” Minghao said, voice quieter now. “I just do anyway.”

Jun reached out, brushing his thumb over Minghao’s wrist. “You’re allowed to have bad days, Hao. You don’t have to be perfectly balanced all the time.”

Minghao gave a small, tired laugh. “You make it sound easy.”

“It’s not,” Jun said. “But I meant what I said — I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to keep everything together for me.”

That got him to smile, a little more honestly this time. “You always say the right thing.”

“Not always,” Jun said. “But I mean it when it’s about you.”

Minghao leaned into him slightly, letting their shoulders touch. “You’re too good at this.”

“Yeah, well,” Jun said softly. “Someone’s gotta keep you from thinking yourself into a spiral.”

Minghao laughed quietly, the sound lighter now. “You do a decent job.”

“I try,” Jun said, smiling back. “Now come here before you start cleaning something again.”

Minghao rolled his eyes, but let Jun pull him in, the tension finally easing out of his shoulders. Jun leaned down to kiss him again — slower this time, steadier. The kind of kiss that didn’t ask for anything, just lingered.

When they finally pulled back, Minghao’s voice was quiet. “You should stay.”

“I was going to,” Jun said.

They ended up on the couch, curled into each other, a blanket thrown loosely over them. The city hummed softly through the window; the world outside felt far away.

Jun’s arm was around Minghao’s waist, his thumb brushing absently against the fabric of his hoodie. Minghao’s breathing evened out, his head tucked just under Jun’s chin.

Jun pressed a small kiss into his hair. “I really did miss you,” he whispered, not sure if Minghao was still awake to hear it.

But Minghao murmured something in reply — soft, half-asleep — and Jun smiled, eyes closing.

The flat was quiet except for the faint hum of the fridge and the steady rhythm of Minghao’s breathing.

Chapter Text

Wonwoo

Mingyu:
hey
random q — was u in the library earlier?

Wonwoo:
was. why

Mingyu:
did they say where we’re supposed to print the project models this year?
they moved the studio printers again and dk nearly uploaded his to the law department

Wonwoo:
no clue. i don’t even go near the printing rooms
too much sawdust and anxiety

Mingyu:
architecture is literally 80% sawdust and anxiety

Wonwoo:
you chose it

Mingyu:
bad life choices build character

Wonwoo:
you must be so full of character then

Mingyu:
you’d know 😉

Mingyu:
that was a joke btw

Wonwoo:
sure

Mingyu:
you good though?
you seemed kinda off at lunch

Wonwoo:
i was eating dry rice, mingyu. anyone would look off

Mingyu:
no, i mean
nevermind. forget it

Wonwoo:
you already said it, might as well finish the thought

Mingyu:
just feels like you’re… somewhere else lately
you don’t really talk much anymore since the party

Wonwoo:
i never talked much

Mingyu:
yeah but it used to sound different

Wonwoo:
different how

Mingyu:
like you actually wanted to be in the room

Wonwoo:
that’s dramatic

Mingyu:
maybe
doesn’t mean it’s wrong

Wonwoo:
you ever think maybe i just have a lot on my mind?

Mingyu:
yeah, i figured
just didn’t know if it was me

Wonwoo:
it’s not you

Mingyu:
that sounds like something someone says when it is them

Wonwoo:
stop overthinking everything

Mingyu:
you make it easy to

Mingyu:
i’ve been trying to give you space, you know
but it’s weird when things feel different and no one says why

Wonwoo:
it’s just uni. new year, new people. we’re not glued together

Mingyu:
i know
doesn’t mean i don’t notice when something changes

Wonwoo:
it’s not that deep, mingyu. really.

Mingyu:
then why does it feel like you’re trying to convince yourself of that

Wonwoo:
you read too much into things

Mingyu:
you write too much around them

Mingyu:
anyway
thanks for nothing about the printers

Wonwoo:
happy to help

Mingyu:
i’ll just wander around campus till i find it

Wonwoo:
make sure to get lost somewhere scenic then

Mingyu:
you calling me dramatic again?

Wonwoo:
you don’t need me to

Mingyu:
night, wonwoo

Wonwoo:
night

Mingyu sat at his desk, laptop screen washing his face in that pale blue glow that made everything feel colder than it was. The apartment was mostly quiet — DK’s music hummed faintly from the other room, something upbeat that didn’t quite fit the mood. A mug of cold coffee sat beside his keyboard, forgotten hours ago. He should’ve gone to bed, but he couldn’t stop replaying the chat.

He scrolled up, eyes tracing over the words that were too casual to be harmless. you don’t need me to. It wasn’t even sharp — just so typically Wonwoo. Detached, measured, like every response had gone through three filters before hitting send.

Mingyu leaned back, the chair creaking under him. He stared at the ceiling for a long moment, trying to figure out why that conversation had left such a weight in his chest. It wasn’t like they’d fought. Wonwoo didn’t fight. He just… stepped back. Quietly.

That was the thing about him — he never made noise when he left a room. You just noticed the air felt different after.

The hum of DK’s speaker cut off with a click, followed by a yawn and the soft thud of his door closing. Silence settled in properly now — the kind that rang in Mingyu’s ears. He spun his pencil between his fingers, watching it blur. He told himself he wasn’t thinking about it anymore.

But he was.

It wasn’t the first time he’d felt it — the distance. It had crept in somewhere between late-night study sessions and those half-laughed conversations about nothing. At first, Mingyu thought it was just the start of the semester — everyone busy, scattered. Then he saw how Jun and Wonwoo still found time to hang out, how they’d sit in the library looking at something on Jun’s phone, laughing in that quiet way people did when they really liked being near each other.

And Mingyu? He’d just walked past, pretending he didn’t see them.

He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to shake it off. It wasn’t jealousy. Not exactly. He wasn’t even sure what it was. Something heavier, something that felt like he’d missed a turn somewhere and now couldn’t find his way back to where they’d been before.

The screen dimmed, reflecting his own tired face. He clicked it off and leaned his elbows on the desk, the faint hum of the fridge the only sound now. He could still see the text in his head. you write too much around things.

He laughed softly to himself — because he knew it was true. Wonwoo always had that kind of precision. He saw through things, not in a cruel way, but in that quiet, unflinching way that left you feeling too exposed.

The first time they’d met, Mingyu remembered thinking how unreadable he was. Thought it was a challenge. Tried to make him laugh every chance he got — and when he did, it felt like winning something rare.

Now, it just felt like trying too hard.

He pushed back from the desk and stood, stretching until his back cracked. The flat was dim, only the soft streetlight filtering through the blinds. His architecture models sat half-finished on the shelf, all clean lines and empty space — sterile, like something he should admire but couldn’t connect to.

He thought about sending another text. Something light. Maybe a dumb meme, something to break whatever that was between them. But his finger hovered uselessly over the chat for a few seconds before he locked his phone and tossed it onto the bed instead.

He stood by the window for a while, watching the lights of the opposite building blink on and off. Someone’s TV flickered blue. Somewhere below, laughter carried up from the street — students probably heading back from dinner or a late movie. It felt like a life happening slightly to the side of his own.

He didn’t know what he wanted from Wonwoo, exactly. They weren’t close enough for this to hurt the way it did. But maybe that was the problem — he wanted them to be.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, and sat on the edge of his bed. His phone buzzed once, lighting up the dark for a second. Just a notification from the uni group chat — nothing important.

Still, for a moment, his heart jumped.

When it wasn’t Wonwoo, he told himself he didn’t care.

But when he lay down, face half-buried in the pillow, the words still looped in his head — short, plain, too calm to be harmless.

you don’t need me to.

And even though he hated how much space it took up, he couldn’t stop thinking that maybe Wonwoo was right.

Maybe he didn’t need him.
But Mingyu wasn’t sure he liked how that felt.

Chapter Text

Seungkwan: guys check ur emails rn

Seungkwan: society fair tomorrow

Seungkwan: who’s doing what 👀

Hoshi: kwannie. me. u. uni musical.

Hoshi: what do u think?

Wonwoo: no

Jun: no

Hannie: no

Seungkwan: no

Hoshi: haters fr 🙄

Hoshi: signing up anyways

Hannie: me, josh, woozi, dk are defo doing choir this year

Hannie: Seungkwan come thru for audition next week

Seungkwan: be prepared to lose ur positions

Woozi: ha u wish

DK: i eat wind pipes for lunch

Woozi: i think the saying is u eat CDs

DK: that as well

Hoshi: where’s my child prodigy

Hoshi: elite dance have trials next week as well

Hoshi: not that u need to, i got u a spot already 😛

Dino: hehe thanks dad🫶🏼

Hannie: nepo baby

Mingyu: as captain of the football team

Mingyu: DK you’ve been demoted

DK: u can’t do that bitch

Mingyu: fight me

DK: i’m literally next to you, i will throw hands

Mingyu: guys he hit me

Hannie: good

Hannie: newcomers, any of u kick ball?

Seungkwan: what kind of ball are we talking about?

Hannie: moving on swiftly

DK: can we make a band 🥺

Woozi: no

DK: please

Woozi: no

DK: plsss

DK: we can call ourselves seventeen

Jun: why seventeen..?

DK: there’s 13 of us..?

Hoshi: wait…lowkey i see the vision

Jun: are u both high again

Hoshi: no

DK: yes

Vernon: yes

Jun: where tf did vernon come from

Dino: America i think

Hoshi: good one son

Minghao: guys why was i assigned a group project

Minghao: for art..

Hannie: wait do u all get to gather round and draw a naked person?

Mingyu: isn’t that basically an orgy?

Minghao: what a way with words

Hannie: speaking about words

Hannie: wonnie how’s english

Hannie: started a new fanfic yet?

Wonwoo: hilarious

Wonwoo: it’s depressing thats for sure

Woozi: god gives his toughest battles to english students

Hannie: and his weakest men to theatre

Seungkwan: hey 😐

DK: and he sends his demons to psychology

Hannie: touché

Vernon: can i drop out yet

Seungkwan: it’s literally only week 2

Vernon: idc im done

Hannie: ugh freshers, wait till you get to third year

Hannie: then you’ll rlly wanna die

Mingyu: I’m gonna be at the freshers fair tomorrow anways

Mingyu: so u can all come then

Hannie: is there free food?

Mingyu: should be?

Hannie: see u tomorrow then

Dino: can I skip class to go?

Minghao: that’s the spirit

Chapter Text

Rows of tables lined the space — each one covered with flyers, bowls of sweets, and the kind of hand-drawn posters that tried their best to look official. The Society Fair, as the signs proudly announced, was already half chaos: people shouting club names, clipboards being passed around, and first-years pretending they weren’t already regretting signing up for ten things they’d never attend.

Mingyu sat behind the University Football Club table, half-slouched in his chair, spinning a pen between his fingers. The table looked decent — neat, simple, a little too masculine. There were laminated photos from last season, a bowl of mints someone brought last minute, and a sign-up sheet that already had a solid list of names.

Across the aisle, Joshua sat at the Ethics and Philosophy Society table, looking annoyingly composed as always. His table was the opposite — quiet, tidy, with a tiny plant in a ceramic pot and a stack of pamphlets titled “Thinking About Thinking.”

When the crowd around Mingyu’s table thinned, Joshua caught his eye and waved.

“Slow business, Captain?” he called over.

Mingyu grinned, standing to stretch. “Just gave a speech about teamwork and commitment to three guys who clearly only came for the merch.”

“Ah,” Joshua said, smiling. “The true spirit of university.”

Mingyu grabbed one of his mints, tossed it in his mouth, and walked over. “You’ve got the least chaotic table here,” he said, leaning on the edge of Joshua’s. “Feels like a library.”

“That’s the idea,” Joshua said, shifting a stack of papers neatly. “We’re trying to appeal to people with functioning attention spans.”

“So… none of the football guys, then,” Mingyu said.

Joshua laughed quietly. “Exactly.”

For a moment, they both just watched the stream of students go by — tote bags, flyers, half-eaten sandwiches. A few people paused at Joshua’s table, then drifted away again after polite smiles.

“Don’t think I’ve seen you join a society yet,” Joshua said eventually. “Other than the one you’re trying to recruit for.”

“Football eats up my schedule,” Mingyu said. “And besides, you really think I’d fit in here?”

Joshua tilted his head, pretending to consider. “Maybe. Ethics has a way of finding people who overthink everything.”

“Wow,” Mingyu said dryly. “Thanks.”

Joshua smiled. “It’s not an insult. Just an observation.”

Mingyu picked up one of the pamphlets, flipping through it. What does it mean to live a good life? the first line read. “You guys really start heavy.”

“We like to set expectations,” Joshua said. “So people know what they’re getting into before they join.”

Mingyu leaned against the table. “And what’s the right answer?”

Joshua glanced up. “To that question?”

“Yeah.”

He shrugged. “There isn’t one. Depends on the person.”

“That’s a cop-out.”

“That’s philosophy.”

Mingyu huffed a laugh, closing the pamphlet. “You make this sound like therapy with extra steps.”

“Sometimes it is,” Joshua said. “Except we don’t charge per session.”

That earned another grin from Mingyu. He liked talking to Joshua — the kind of calm that came off him felt rare in the middle of all this noise. Even when the conversation didn’t mean much, it felt like it did.

A group of students walked up then — one of them asking Joshua something about reading lists and meetings. Joshua answered easily, polite and attentive, and Mingyu couldn’t help noticing how naturally he handled it — that quiet composure that made people trust him almost immediately.

When they left, Joshua leaned back. “You’re staring.”

“I’m observing,” Mingyu said. “Philosophy student thing, right?”

“I’m not a philosophy student,” Joshua said, amused.

“Same difference.”

There was a pause. Someone from the debate club shouted across the hall about a raffle prize. Mingyu’s eyes drifted back toward his own table, where DK was now holding court with a group of first-years, probably retelling a story about a goal he didn’t score.

“Looks like your co-captain’s stealing the spotlight,” Joshua said, following his gaze.

“He can have it,” Mingyu said easily. “Less work for me.”

Joshua raised an eyebrow. “You say that, but you love the attention.”

Mingyu smiled, caught. “Maybe. Sometimes.”

Joshua’s eyes softened a little — the kind of look that said he knows more than he lets on. “You been alright lately?”

“Yeah,” Mingyu said automatically, then paused. “Just busy. Classes, training. You know how it is.”

Joshua hummed. “Yeah. But that’s not what I asked.”

Mingyu exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. “You sound like Seungcheol.”

“Good,” Joshua said lightly. “He worries about you too.”

Mingyu hesitated. “I’m fine. Just figuring stuff out.”

Joshua didn’t push. He just nodded slowly. “It’s the first month of term,” Joshua said. “No one’s got it figured out yet. You’re allowed to take your time.”

Mingyu nodded, eyes distant for a second. The noise around them faded — just for a moment — and he thought about the last time he’d seen Wonwoo. The short messages they’d exchanged. How nothing was exactly wrong, but it didn’t feel simple either.

They let the moment sit there — easy, unforced. Someone called Joshua’s name, and he turned briefly to wave. When he looked back, Mingyu was already straightening up, heading back toward his table.

“You coming to the mixer later?” Joshua called after him.

“Maybe,” Mingyu said. “Depends how existential your society gets after dark.”

Joshua grinned. “We’ll try to keep the philosophy light.”

“Then maybe I’ll drop by.”

Joshua watched him go — tall, easy smile back on his face, though something quieter lingered behind it. The fair buzzed around them, loud and alive, but under all the chatter, there was a kind of stillness in the way people like Mingyu moved through it — a restlessness that never really left.

And when Mingyu sat back down at his table, laughing at something DK said, Joshua just smiled faintly to himself.
Some people, he thought, were always trying to find where they fit — even when everyone else already saw it.

The campus green was a mess of voices and flyers and half-deflated balloons by the time the society fair started to wind down. Tables were closing, the smell of fried food clung to the air, and a soft wind scattered paper cups across the grass. Mingyu leaned back in his chair, his football team poster drooping behind him, and watched Joshua tape the corner of his “Ethics Society” sign back up for the third time.

“So yeah,” DK said, gesturing wildly with a brochure, “it’s not just football, right? It’s about community, strategy, friendship—”

Mingyu cut in without looking up from his phone. “—and cardio, which you clearly love.”

“Shut up,” DK said, but he was grinning. The first-year mumbled something about “thinking about it” before practically jogging away.

Mingyu leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Another one convinced by your charm.”

“Listen, I’m marketing with passion.”

“You’re scaring them off with it.”

“Maybe they just can’t handle my enthusiasm,” DK shot back, tossing him a half-empty bottle of water.

“Maybe,” Mingyu said, unscrewing the cap. “Or maybe you just yelled ‘friendship’ at a teenager for two minutes straight.”

Before DK could retaliate, a calm voice interrupted.

“Some of us are trying to promote ethical discussion, not psychological warfare.”

Joshua had appeared beside them, his Ethics and Theology Society sign tucked under one arm, a small stack of leaflets in the other. 

“Perfect timing,” DK said. “We were just talking about ethics.”

Joshua raised an eyebrow. “In football?”

“In recruitment,” Mingyu said. “Mostly about how DK’s approach should be illegal.”

Joshua laughed softly, setting down his stack. “At least you’ve got foot traffic. No one wants to talk about moral philosophy when there’s a free donut stall next door.”

“Maybe your selling point should be guilt,” DK suggested. “Like, join or you’re morally corrupt.”

“I’ll add that to the flyers,” Joshua said dryly, sitting on the edge of Mingyu’s table.

The three of them sat there for a while, half-watching the chaos unfold — students waving banners, someone blasting pop music from a speaker, another guy dressed as the campus mascot taking photos with freshmen.

“Feels weird being back,” DK said after a moment.

Mingyu nodded. “Yeah. But in a good way.”

“Mostly good,” Joshua agreed. “Until someone asks you what you’re doing after graduation.”

“Block, report, delete,” DK said, pretending to gag.

Their laughter was drowned out by the sound of Hoshi yelling across the green, waving two plates of fries in the air. “Yo, captain! You recruiting or flirting?”

Mingyu didn’t even need to turn; Hoshi’s voice carried like a siren. He was approaching them, balancing paper plates of fries and soda cans.

“Bit of both,” Mingyu called back. “Multitasking.”

Joshua waved them over, smiling. “Save us from the slow death of paperwork, please.”

Hoshi dumped the fries between them and immediately started picking through them for the best ones. “This place is chaos. There’s a fencing club, a debate society, and someone’s running a K-drama appreciation group. I think we found Woozi’s people.”

“Very funny,” Woozi’s dry voice came from behind them. He and Seungcheol had just arrived, both looking suspiciously put-together for how windy it was. Woozi dropped into the spare chair beside Joshua and looked at the fries like they’d personally offended him. “You know this is cold, right?”

“Adds texture,” Hoshi said through a mouthful.

Seungcheol smirked, nodding toward Mingyu. “You get many sign-ups?”

“Few,” Mingyu said. “Couple of first-years who think we train like the Premier League.”

“And you let them keep believing that?”

“Absolutely.”

Jun and Minghao arrived next, hand in hand, looking like they’d stepped out of an art school magazine. Jun had a camera slung around his neck; Minghao was holding a sketchbook and an iced coffee that looked more like melted ice than caffeine.

“You guys look like you’re here to judge everyone,” DK said.

“We are,” Minghao said smoothly, taking a seat. “This is free entertainment.”

Joshua gestured toward the mess of flyers on the table. “Feel free to philosophize about it.”

“Too late,” Jun said, setting his camera down. “Already done. Society fairs are modern art — performance pieces about human desperation.”

“Wow,” Seungkwan’s voice chimed as he appeared with Vernon and Dino trailing behind him. “You say one poetic thing and think you’ve earned a degree.”

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Seungkwan,” Jun said sweetly.

“Neither does public speaking,” Seungkwan shot back, dropping into a chair beside Dino. “But here we are.”

Vernon stood beside the group, quiet for a moment, scanning the crowd before sitting down at the end of the table near Joshua. He had a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it was enough for Joshua to nudge him lightly with his elbow.

“Long day?” Joshua asked.

“Just long people,” Vernon said, and that got a few laughs.

Soon the table was a mix of voices — conversations overlapping, snacks being passed around, someone’s playlist humming faintly from a speaker. The sun had started to lower, cutting through the trees in slanted gold light that turned everything soft around the edges.

DK was trying to convince Woozi to start a band again. “I’m telling you, man, we’d make bank. I sing, you produce, Seungkwan performs, Hoshi dances—”

Woozi cut him off. “That’s not a band, that’s a circus.”

“I can juggle,” Hoshi said immediately.

“Of course you can.”

Jun was showing Minghao a few of the photos he’d taken during the fair — Minghao half-smiling at each one, pointing out details only he seemed to notice. 

Wonwoo showed up last, a tote bag slung over his shoulder and an expression that looked halfway between tired and amused. He spotted them from across the green, paused for a second like he wasn’t sure he wanted to join, then made his way over anyway.

Joshua waved him in. “We saved you cold fries and lukewarm friendship.”

“Perfect combination,” Wonwoo said, setting his bag down and sitting next to Mingyu because it was the only open spot.

“Hey,” Mingyu said.

“Hey.”

It was casual, easy — but something about the air shifted just a little, like the hum of conversation dulled for half a second before finding its rhythm again.

Joshua noticed, but didn’t comment.

“So,” Seungkwan said, leaning forward dramatically. “If we had to make our own society, what would it be?”

“Dumbest question of the day,” Woozi said, without looking up from his phone.

“Humour me.”

“Sleep Society,” Wonwoo offered.

“Music Society 2: The Louder One,” DK said.

“Society of Bad Decisions,” Jun said, glancing at Minghao.

Minghao raised an eyebrow. “You’re president.”

Hoshi gasped. “Dance & Drama Society — but we actually dance while arguing.”

“That already exists,” Seungcheol said. “It’s called your life.”

Laughter rippled around the table — easy, warm.

For a while, they stayed like that, just talking. The sky deepened into blue, the hum of the fair fading into the background. Flyers flapped against empty tables, a breeze carrying the faint sound of music from another corner of campus.

Vernon leaned back on his chair, arms crossed loosely. “Feels weird seeing everyone here again,” he said quietly, but loud enough for them to hear.

Joshua nodded. “In a good way though.”

“Yeah,” Vernon said. “Good weird.”

“Welcome back to the chaos,” Hoshi said, tossing a fry at him.

Mingyu watched them all — the mix of noise and laughter, inside jokes spilling over each other — and felt something settle in his chest. He wasn’t sure what it was exactly. Maybe comfort. Maybe the start of something different.

Wonwoo said something then — a dry comment about how half of them wouldn’t last a week in their chosen societies — and everyone laughed again, even Mingyu.

It felt simple for once. Just the sound of friends at a table, the end of the day stretching out lazy and golden around them.

By the time the fair finally emptied out, the group was still there — lingering like none of them really wanted to leave.