Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The hallway of Seungmin's new dorm smelled like old air freshener and someone's leftover takeout. Seungmin wrinkled his nose and adjusted the strap of his backpack, ignoring the weight of his duffel bag as it bumped his leg with every step. Second floor. Room 203B. It was supposedly renovated, but he doubted it.

He stopped outside the door and stared at it for a beat too long.

He didn't know what he expected. Maybe some peace and quiet. Maybe someone boring. That would be nice. Even better, someone who didn't speak unless spoken to. Someone easy to ignore.

The moment he pushed the door open, he knew he wasn't getting that.

The room wasn't loud, but it was lived in. One bed was already claimed (messed up), the blankets crumpled over the mattress. A shirt was slung over the back of a chair, and a pair of shoes sat neatly by the door. The window was cracked open, letting in a warm breeze and the sound of someone playing music in the distance. A mostly unpacked suitcase sat by the dresser.

And then there was him.

A guy stood by the mini fridge, crouched slightly as he arranged bottles of something into a tiny shelf. His hair was relatively lo f, in a mullet, and his bangs were pushed back iff of his face. He was humming quietly, not obnoxiously, but with enough ease to make it clear he didn't expect company yet.

Then he turned around.

"Oh—hey!" The guy blinked, straightened up, and smiled like Seungmin hadn't just walked in on his entire existence. "You must be my roommate."

Seungmin stayed in the doorway. "Yeah."

"Seungmin, right?" the guy asked, stepping forward with an outstretched hand. "I'm Chan."

Seungmin stared it. He contemplated shaking it, but who knows when the last time this kid washed his hands was? He just nodded once, stepped inside, and let the door fall shut behind him. "You already moved in."

"I got here earlier. You're not late, don't worry. I'm just very efficient."

Seungmin looked around. "You call this efficient?"

Chan laughed. "Organized chaos. I know where everything is."

Seungmin didn't respond. He moved to the empty side of the room and dropped his bag on the bed. It bounced once, then sagged into the mattress.

Chan lingered near his own bed, watching him. Not in a creepy way—just curious. Like he was trying to figure something out.

"So..." Chan said. "First year?"

"Obviously," Seungmin said flatly.

Chan grinned. "Right. Freshman aura."

"What does that even mean?"

"You've got that look. The 'I'm already over this' thing. It's kind of intense."

Seungmin raised an eyebrow. "And you're what, a junior?"

"Yep."

Seungmin frowned. "Why are they pairing freshmen with upperclassmen?"

"Random draw," Chan said. "I asked for a roommate because it helps keep me accountable. If I was left to my own devices, I'd spiral into chaos."

Seungmin glanced pointedly at the clutter behind him. "And this isn't chaos?"

Chan shrugged, easy. "Mild chaos. Manageable."

Seungmin turned back to his suitcase and started unpacking, pulling his laptop out first and placing it neatly on the desk.

"So..." Chan tried again. "Where are you from?"

"Seoul."

"Oh, nice. I was born in Australia, but I moved here when I was 13."

Seungmin nodded but didn't look up. "Australia, huh?"

There was a short silence. Not quite awkward—Chan didn't do awkward, apparently—but not comfortable either.

"Are you always this quiet?" Chan asked eventually.

Seungmin glanced over. "Do you always ask this many questions?"

Chan smiled again. "Only when I'm trying to figure someone out."

"Maybe don't do that."

"Maybe I already am."

Seungmin sighed. "You're not subtle."

Chan winked. "Never claimed to be."

Seungmin rolled his eyes and kept unpacking. The guy was exhausting. He hadn't even done anything. He was literally just existing, all bright smiles and open energy, and it was already too much. Seungmin had met a hundred people like this before. The kind who smiled too easily. The kind who made friends in five minutes flat. The kind who flirted with strangers and called it kindness.

The kind who made you feel like you knew them, right up until you realized you didn't.

"Hey," Chan said suddenly, interrupting his thoughts. "Don't stare at me like that. You'll fall in love."

Seungmin didn't even flinch. "You couldn't handle it if I did."

That made Chan laugh, loud and full. He sat down on his bed, like he'd just been hit with the best line he'd heard all week. "God. You're sharp."

"I'm tired," Seungmin said. "And my expectations are low."

Chan leaned back on his elbows. "Don't worry. I'll grow on you."

"You're already mold."

Chan laughed again. "I like you."

Seungmin didn't answer. He just opened a drawer in his desk, dropped in a handful of pens, and told himself he'd give it a week. Maybe Chan would get less annoying.

He doubted it.

📓๋࣭ ⭑✐

The campus cafeteria was crowded, loud, and smelled aggressively like sweet and sour chicken. Seungmin stepped inside, tray in hand, already regretting everything. Why did he even decide to buy school lunch again?

He spotted his usual group instantly, gathered around a corner table like they owned the place. They had all gone to high school together. They were different ages, but all somehow ended up going to the same university.  Hyunjin was waving a plastic spoon in Jeongin's face, Jisung was half-asleep on Minho's shoulder, and Felix had three cartons of milk in front of him like he was stockpiling for winter while Changbin was trying to flip a water bottle. 

Seungmin dropped his tray onto the table and sat down without a word.

Hyunjin blinked. "Oh no."

"Already?" Minho asked, not even looking up from peeling an orange.

"Already," Seungmin confirmed. "I hate my roommate."

Jisung yawned. "How long did it take?"

"Three minutes," Seungmin muttered. "I opened the door, and he was already talking to me. Who does that?"

"You mean...introduces themselves?" Felix said cautiously.

"Exactly!"

There was a brief pause.

Jeongin raised an eyebrow. "What's he like?"

"Too cheerful. Too pretty. He kept calling me freshman aura or whatever that means."

Hyunjin grabbed Seungmin's hand dramatically. "Is he hot??"

Seungmin squinted. "Why is that your first question?"

"Because I know you," Hyunjin said. "You only get this grumpy when you're flustered."

"I'm not flustered."

Felix leaned in. "What's his name?"

Seungmin sighed like he was confessing to a crime. "Chan."

Minho finally looked up. "As in, Chan Bahng?"

Seungmin stared. "You know him?"

"Everyone knows him," Minho said. "He's a junior. Produces music sometimes. Runs orientation stuff. People love him."

"Of course they do," Seungmin muttered, stabbing a piece of chicken like it had personally wronged him.

Hyunjin was already grinning. "Oh my God. You're screwed."

"He called himself organized chaos," Seungmin said, horrified.

"That's kind of impressive," Felix offered.

"No, it's insufferable."

Jeongin leaned his chin on his palm. "What else did he do?"

"He winked at me."

"Okay, that's hot," Hyunjin said immediately.

"You're just gay," Seungmin snapped. "And then he said—get this—'Don't look at me like that, you'll fall in love.'"

The table erupted.

Hyunjin howled. "You're lying!"

"Swear to God."

"What did you say?" Jisung asked, wide-eyed.

"I told him he couldn't handle it if I did."

Jeongin covered his mouth, laughing. "Seungmin."

"I hate him!"

"No, you don't," Minho said, popping a slice of orange into Jisung's mouth. "You're obsessed."

Seungmin opened his mouth to protest, but Felix held up a finger. "Wait. Did you actually eat with him?"

"No. I escaped. Came straight here."

"So you don't even know if he chews loud."

"I don't care if he chews silently," Seungmin snapped. "His personality is loud enough."

"You should've sat with him," Hyunjin teased. "Gotten to know your soulmate."

"Kill me."

"You moved in this morning," Jisung said gently. "It's been, like, two hours."

"Exactly," Seungmin whined. "Two hours too long."

Minho reached for another orange slice. "So, are we taking bets on how long it'll take him to fall for Chan?"

"Three weeks," Hyunjin said immediately.

"A month," Felix added.

"A year, at least," Jeongin said. "Unless Chan wears glasses. Then it's over."

"I hate all of you."

"We love you too," Jisung said sweetly.

Seungmin stared at his tray, muttering under his breath. "Roommate of the year, my ass."

Somewhere deep in his pocket, his phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number.

chan 🧃

hey roommate. don't forget to fill out your housing paperwork or they'll probably throw you into a closet or something lol.

Another buzz.

also if you see my other shoe, tell it i miss it

Seungmin put his phone face down on the table and scowled.

Hyunjin noticed . "Is that him?"

"No."

"Did he text you?"

"No."

Jisung leaned in. "Are you smiling?"

Seungmin didn't answer.

📓๋࣭ ⭑✐

The second Seungmin heard the professor call his name next to Chan's, his head snapped up.

He must have heard wrong. There was no way.

But Chan was already turning in his seat, grinning like this was divine providence. "Looks like we're stuck together, Seungminnie."

Seungmin didn't respond. He just stared at the front of the room as the next names were read, dead-eyed. The group project hadn't even started yet, and already he could feel the blood pressure behind his ears. Why was he even in a class with Chan anyway?

As soon as they were dismissed, Chan sidled up next to him like a parasite with charm.

"Wanna pick a time to meet? We could go over ideas now, if you're free—"

"I have a class," Seungmin said flatly, brushing past him.

Chan kept up easily. "No worries, we can text. Do you like working in cafes? Or the dorm lounge? Or, ooh, the rooftop—"

"I don't want to brainstorm anywhere near a rooftop with you," Seungmin muttered.

Chan laughed like that was the best compliment he'd ever received. "You're warming up to me. I can tell."

"Sure."

He pulled out his phone, already loathing the universe's choices for putting them in each other's paths again. Chan's name was still saved as "DO NOT ENGAGE," from orientation weekend. Fitting.

They met that evening in the smaller study lounge tucked behind their dorm's common area. Seungmin picked it on purpose—quiet, no distractions, and definitely no chance for Chan to get swept up in some impromptu jam session with his friends like the last time they'd tried to study.

Chan arrived five minutes late with a smoothie and a Bluetooth speaker poking out of his hoodie pocket. Seungmin stared at it like it had committed a crime.

"No music," he said.

"Just setting the vibe."

"Set it to silent."

Chan sighed dramatically and tucked it away. "So strict. Have you considered relaxing for once in your life?"

"I relax just fine when you're not here."

"Ouch." He sat across from him, unfazed. "You know, I always liked the enemies-to-lovers trope. This is really speaking to that."

Seungmin made a note on his laptop just so he wouldn't look up. "I'm not your enemy or your lover."

"Yet?"

"I'm not your anything."

Chan leaned his chin on his hand, smiling. "Not yet."

Seungmin's eye twitched.

They started sifting through potential media examples for their project, which was supposed to analyze the way narratives shift depending on medium—film, TV, podcasts, whatever. Seungmin already had a shortlist and a rough outline. Chan had vibes.

"I'm just saying," Chan argued, tapping his fingers against the edge of his cup, "Fast & Furious is basically a modern myth. Found family. Tragedy. Explosions."

"Your brain is an explosion."

"That sounds like a compliment."

"It's not."

Chan laughed again, and Seungmin hated that it wasn't an irritating sound. He looked down, clicking through his tabs with a little more force than necessary.

"You don't take anything seriously," Seungmin said after a pause, quieter this time.

Chan blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You joke about everything. You act like this is a game."

Chan tilted his head. "It's a group project, not a funeral."

"It's still part of our grade."

"I know that."

"Then maybe act like it," Seungmin snapped, sharper than he meant.

For a split second, Chan actually looked annoyed. Or maybe just thrown.

Then he leaned back and stretched, hands behind his head. "Okay. Fine. Lead the way, boss."

Seungmin glared at him.

Chan held up both palms in surrender. "Seriously. You seem like you already have half the thing mapped out. Tell me what to do."

Seungmin didn't say anything. He liked being right, but he hated being condescended to even more. And now Chan was giving him both.

He pulled up a doc and started typing, ignoring the fact that Chan was watching him with unreadable eyes.

"You don't trust people very easily, huh?" Chan said eventually.

Seungmin didn't look up. "Is that a problem?"

"No," Chan said, slowly. "Just... interesting."

Seungmin didn't ask what that meant. He didn't want to know.

They worked for about an hour.

Well, Seungmin worked. Chan alternated between half-hearted research and mildly inappropriate metaphors.

"It's like this media is peeling itself open," Chan said at one point, frowning at the screen like it had personally offended him.

"Are you okay?"

"No."

Seungmin rolled his eyes and passed him a summary article. "Read this."

"Yes, sir."

"I will walk out."

"Don't you want to see me succeed?"

"I care about my grades more."

Chan clicked his tongue and dramatically opened the link. "Your mentorship style is brutal. But effective."

"I am not your mentor."

"You're mentoring my soul."

Seungmin stared at him.

"Sorry. That sounded less weird in my head."

"No, it didn't."

Chan smiled, lazy and easy. "You're kind of fun when you're pissed."

Seungmin tapped a pencil against the table, pretending not to hear the way Chan's voice softened on the word fun. Pretending it didn't do something weird to the inside of his ribs.

By the time they wrapped up, the lounge had emptied out except for a couple of people working quietly in the back. Seungmin stood up to stretch and noticed Chan leaning over his phone, laughing under his breath.

He was texting someone. It was probably two people, if the speed of his thumbs was any good indication.

Someone replied with a heart emoji. He sent a smirking face back.

Seungmin turned away.

With his bag slung over one shoulder, he made for the door. Chan followed without comment, still fiddling with his phone as they stepped into the hall. There was music floating from the main lounge now—someone playing guitar, people singing along. It was the kind of laid-back energy Seungmin usually didn't mind. But now it felt grating.

They passed the lounge, and Chan slowed.

"Oh, wait," he said, stopping by the doorway. "Gimme a sec."

Seungmin turned instinctively, just in time to see Chan slip inside and into a small group huddled near the window.

A girl with pink clips in her hair lit up when she saw him. She touched his arm when he said something. He laughed, then said something else and grinned wider when the group burst into giggles.

Seungmin didn't stay to watch the rest. He turned, pulled his hood up, and kept walking.

He didn't care.

He didn't.

The lounge doors shut behind him with a soft click.

He took the stairs to their floor two at a time, unlocking the dorm room with a sharp twist of his key. It was dark inside, still quiet—Chan's stupid LED lights weren't on, and Seungmin didn't bother turning on the overhead. He dropped his bag on the floor and sat at his desk, the weight of the evening collecting in his shoulders like bad posture.

God, he was so annoying. Him and all of his friends were.

He opened his laptop again, just to give his hands something to do. Adjusted the outline. Highlighted a section. Un-highlighted it.

It wasn't the flirting that got to him. It was how effortless it was for Chan, how easily people reached for him, like it was gravity, like they already liked him before he even said anything. He smiled, and people leaned in. He teased, and people laughed like they were grateful for it. And Seungmin was just...watching. Like an idiot. 

He slammed his laptop shut and stood up again, pacing a slow loop around the room. The silence was too loud. Chan's side of the room was still messy. That shirt was still on the chair, and a charger cord was curled halfway to the floor. There was a sketchy drawing of a duck taped to the mirror from the day Chan got bored during syllabus week.

It smiled at Seungmin with its stupid sharpie beak.

He sat down again.

📓๋࣭ ⭑✐

The next morning was dull and gray, with light rain. It was the kind that didn't even deserve an umbrella, and just left your sleeves damp. Seungmin threw on a jacket and met Hyunjin and Jeongin outside the dorm.

Jeongin waved as he approached. "You look like you didn't sleep."

"Thanks."

"I meant it lovingly."

Hyunjin eyed him. "Is this about Chan?"

Seungmin pulled his hood tighter. "No."

"Mm-hm."

They walked across campus, wind tugging at the edges of their jackets. The cafeteria smelled like powdered eggs and burnt toast by the time they arrived—standard. A couple tables near the back were filled with their usual crew already: Minho and Jisung practically cuddling, Felix gesturing wildly about something with Changbin nodding along.

They slid into seats. Jeongin sat next to Hyunjin, leaned against his side like it was second nature.

Seungmin grabbed a tray and stared at the options for a long moment before settling on cereal. Dry. No milk.

"Breakfast of champions," Minho said dryly as he passed.

"It's fuel," Seungmin muttered.

"For what, passive aggression?"

"Shut up."

He sat at the end of the table and did not look up when someone sat across from him. But he knew that voice.

"Did you get cereal again?" Chan's voice, teasing. "That's, like, the third time."

Seungmin stabbed a spoonful into his mouth. "Not your business. How would you know, anyway?"

Chan grinned and leaned back. He was wearing a denim jacket today, with a gray shirt layered underneath. His hair was still damp from the rain. He looked like the type of boy you were supposed to write poetry about in high school. Probably smelled like expensive body wash. Probably woke up and winked at himself in the mirror.

"Rough morning?" Chan asked.

Seungmin chewed.

Around them, the table buzzed. Jisung was retelling something that happened in a study group, Felix kept interrupting with questions, and Changbin was already texting someone under the table.

Chan looked down at his phone, typed something, then turned slightly toward a guy next to him—someone from his music class, probably, Seungmin couldn't remember his name.

The guy nudged him, laughing. "So, how's the new kid?"

Seungmin didn't react.

Chan laughed. "He's intense."

"You scared?"

"Nah," Chan said, low-voiced, casual. "I've dealt with worse."

His friend smirked. "Careful, you're gonna make him fall in love."

Chan made a face. "They always do."

The guy laughed louder. "No way."

Chan shrugged, voice light. "I don't even do anything. They just get attached."

Something in Seungmin's chest clenched like it'd been hit.

He looked down at his cereal.

Again—he didn't care.

It wasn't like Chan was talking about him. Obviously. Obviously. Chan flirted with everyone, and it didn't mean anything.

It just—it was a line. That was all. A dumb, conceited thing to say. Like everything else he said.

Like the version of him that people saw—smiling, laughing, always with someone—was the only version that existed.

Across the table, Chan nudged the guy again. "Anyway. He's kinda funny when he's mad."

Seungmin stood up.

Jisung paused mid-sentence. "You good?"

"Forgot something," he mumbled. His tray clattered a little too loud as he shoved it onto the cart.

Outside, the rain had picked up.

He didn't bother pulling up his hood.

The rain clung to his hair in cold little droplets, slid past his temple, soaked into the collar of his jacket. He didn't stop walking—just kept going, down the path behind the cafeteria, away from the noise and the people and that voice that was still echoing in his head.

They just get attached.

He wanted to scream. Or throw his phone. Or sleep for fourteen hours and pretend he'd never met Bang Chan at all.

"Seungmin!"

The voice came from behind him. Heavy footsteps followed.

"Seungmin, wait—hey—"

He didn't stop.

Chan caught up anyway, breathless. "Okay, okay, what did I do?"

Seungmin turned around so fast the water flicked off his sleeves. "You know what you did."

Chan blinked. He looked stupid, standing there with his hair all damp and his eyes wide like a confused golden retriever. "Okay, you're mad. That's fine. Can you tell me why?"

"You said I was intense."

Chan tilted his head. "You are."

Seungmin glared. "That's not the problem."

"Okay, then what is?"

"You said people always fall in love with you."

Chan opened his mouth, closed it again.

"In the middle of the cafeteria," Seungmin added, voice sharp. "Like it's a joke."

"I—" Chan frowned. "It was a joke."

Seungmin stared at him.

"It wasn't about you," Chan said quickly. "I didn't mean it like—God, I didn't mean you."

"Right," Seungmin said flatly.

"I just—he asked about you. I was trying to be funny."

"You think that's funny?"

"I think you're funny when you're mad."

"Not helping."

Chan ran a hand through his wet hair. "Look, okay, yes, that was dumb. I didn't think you'd hear it. I wasn't trying to make fun of you or anything."

Seungmin didn't answer.

"I thought you hated me," Chan added after a second. "Or... disliked me, whatever."

Seungmin crossed his arms. The rain wasn't even cold anymore. It was just there, soaking through his sleeves like second skin. "I don't hate you."

"That's progress, I guess."

"But you're exhausting."

Chan blinked. "Thanks?"

"I mean it," Seungmin snapped. "You're everywhere. You flirt with everyone. You walk into a room and act like it belongs to you. And then you say stuff like that, like it's normal to just—just talk about people falling for you like it's some kind of game."

Chan was quiet.

Seungmin exhaled, sharp. "If that's how you see people—just... accessories—then yeah. I'm intense. Because I actually give a shit."

Chan blinked at him, water dripping down the curve of his cheekbone.

"I'm not going to fall for you, if that's what you're worried about," Seungmin added bitterly. "So you don't have to keep pretending."

Something in Chan's face shifted. "I wasn't pretending."

Seungmin flinched.

"I'm not—" Chan stepped forward, a little too close. "That's not what I think of you. Okay? I was joking, but not about that. Not about you."

Seungmin stayed still.

"You don't fall for people," Chan said, quieter now. "You push them away."

"And you don't let people in," Seungmin muttered. "You just charm them until they leave happy."

They stared at each other.

Around them, the rain softened into a whisper against the concrete.

"I'm sorry," Chan said eventually. "For what I said. I was trying to make him laugh. It was stupid."

Seungmin looked down.

"And if it matters," Chan added, "you're the only person who hasn't fallen for me. Kind of refreshing, actually."

Seungmin rolled his eyes. "Stop talking."

A beat passed.

"You gonna come back inside?" Chan asked, gently.

"Maybe."

Chan waited a second longer. "I'll save you a seat."

And then he was walking away, hood pulled up at last, steps slow but steady—leaving Seungmin standing in the rain with his fists clenched in his pockets, and something tight and hot in his chest that refused to cool.

He didn't know what it meant yet. But he hated how much he wanted to.

Chapter Text

📓๋࣭ ⭑✐

By the time Seungmin got back to the dorm, probably an hour later, his socks squished in his shoes and the ends of his sleeves were freezing.

Chan was already inside, curled slightly forward on his bed like he wasn’t sure whether to lie down or wait. The lights were on low, the room dim and washed in orange from the small desk lamp. Seungmin closed the door gently behind him.

Neither of them spoke at first.

Chan looked up. He didn’t smile.

Seungmin dropped his soaked jacket over the desk chair and went straight for the small towel he kept on the bedpost. His hands moved without thought—patting down his neck, drying the ends of his hair, avoiding Chan’s gaze with the precision of a practiced art.

When he finally turned around, Chan was still watching him.

“What?” Seungmin asked, quieter than he meant to.

Chan shook his head once. “Nothing.”

They were on opposite sides of the room now, beds pushed apart with an arm’s width between. Seungmin sat down on his own mattress, elbows on his knees, fingers curled together.

“I wasn’t lying,” Chan said suddenly.

Seungmin looked up.

“In the rain,” Chan added. “When I said I wasn’t pretending. I meant it.”

Seungmin let the silence stretch before answering. “Then why does everything you say sound fake?”

Chan didn’t answer right away. He rubbed the back of his neck like he was trying to push something out of his skin.

“I’m not trying to be fake,” he said eventually. “It just… happens.”

Seungmin narrowed his eyes.

Chan leaned back on his hands. “People expect it. The flirting, the jokes. The confidence. It’s a script, kind of. You stick to it, people like you.”

“That doesn’t make it real.”

“I know.” Chan stared up at the ceiling. “It’s easier than being real.”

Seungmin watched him.

Chan continued, voice low. “You know what happens when you’re real? People see the messy parts and decide it’s too much. Or they try to fix you. Or worse—they leave.”

He shifted to sit cross-legged now, arms resting loosely on his knees. His posture was casual, but his tone wasn’t.

“So yeah,” he said. “I flirt. I talk a lot. I act like I don’t care. And most people go along with it because they’re just here for the surface anyway.”

“You think that’s what I’m here for?”

Chan’s eyes flicked to his. “No. That’s what makes it harder.”

Seungmin swallowed. The words sat bitter in the back of his throat.

“You don’t laugh at my jokes when they’re bad,” Chan went on, quieter now. “You don’t play along just to be nice. You make me feel like I have to try. Actually try, not just perform.”

“You hate that?”

“I hate how bad I am at it.”

Seungmin looked at him, really looked. Chan’s hair was still slightly damp, curls clinging to his forehead. His hoodie was twisted around his elbows, like he’d thrown it on just to stop shivering.

And still—he looked tired. Not physically. The kind of tired that lived under the skin, hollow behind the eyes.

“I don’t want a version of you,” Seungmin said finally. “I want the real one.”

Chan huffed a laugh. “The real one’s a mess.”

“So is everyone else.”

Chan met his gaze. “You’re not.”

“I am,” Seungmin said simply. “You just don’t know where to look yet.”

They sat there in the quiet for a while, the space between them filled only by the soft hum of the heater and the occasional drop of water from Seungmin’s still-drying hair.

“I meant what I said,” Seungmin added after a beat. “Earlier. That you’re exhausting.”

Chan snorted, unsurprised.

“But not because you’re loud,” Seungmin went on. “It’s because I never know which version of you I’m talking to.”

That seemed to land somewhere deeper. Chan looked down.

“I’m trying,” he said, almost too soft to hear. “With you. I just… don’t always know how.”

Seungmin leaned back against the wall. “Try anyway.”

Chan looked up.

“If I’m gonna be stuck living with you,” Seungmin said, “I’d rather know the real person than the one who says things like ‘they just get attached.’”

A small silence.

Chan ran a hand through his hair again. “You’re not gonna let me live that down, huh?”

“Not for a while.”

“…Fair.”

Another beat passed. This time it felt warmer.

“Thanks,” Chan said quietly.

“For what?”

“Not walking away.”

Seungmin didn’t reply. But he didn’t look away, either.

Chan stretched out, leaning back on his elbows again. “You really think I’m exhausting?”

Seungmin gave him a dry look. “You have no idea.”

“I do try to tone it down around you.”

“Try harder.”

That made Chan laugh—soft and genuine, his shoulders finally dropping. “You’re a menace.”

“And you’re an idiot.”

Another silence followed. This one was… calm.

They both stayed on their beds, separated by that narrow strip of floor, neither moving to cross it. But something had shifted—something quiet and tentative, settling in the air between them like steam rising from a hot cup of tea.

“I won’t say stupid shit like that again,” Chan said, a little more serious now. “About people falling. I didn’t think about how it’d sound. Especially not to you.”

Seungmin raised an eyebrow. “Why especially me?”

Chan’s eyes flicked up to meet his. “Because you’re not like everyone else.”

Seungmin blinked.

“I don’t want to screw this up.”

“This?”

“This,” Chan repeated, gesturing vaguely between them.

Seungmin watched him for a long moment. Then he said, quietly, “Then stop playing a character.”

Chan nodded. “Okay.”

They didn’t talk much more that night. Seungmin eventually stood to change into dry clothes, tossing his wet ones into the corner hamper. Chan got up too, brushing his teeth without comment, moving like someone careful not to disturb a fragile mood.

They slipped into bed with the lights low and the window cracked open just an inch, letting in the faint scent of wet pavement and leaves.

Neither of them said goodnight.

But when Seungmin rolled over to face the wall, he heard Chan’s voice, quiet and hesitant, drifting across the dark.

“Hey, Seungmin.”

“…What?”

“You’re intense, yeah. But it’s kind of the best thing about you.”

Seungmin didn’t answer.

But the faint curl of a smile tugged at his lips—small, secret, and completely out of his control.

A month passed.

Not all at once, but in packed schedules and blaring alarms, half-finished coffees, group chats full of memes, and the background noise of people learning how to live in a space that wasn’t home but was supposed to feel like it. The weather turned cooler. Leaves gathered along the sidewalks in piles that kicked up when Seungmin walked through them. He didn’t notice how often he matched his pace to someone else’s until he already had.

Chan had stopped being insufferable somewhere along the way.

He still talked too much and left his socks in weird places and played the same song three times in a row if he was in a mood. But the constant flirting had toned down. The cocky grin now came with a knowing glance, like Seungmin was in on the joke, not the punchline. And the teasing—when it came—was soft-edged.

“You eat the same thing every day,” Chan said once, trailing just a step behind Seungmin as they left their late lecture. “One day the salad bar’s gonna revolt.”

“It’s not about variety,” Seungmin answered, checking his phone. “It’s about discipline. Something you clearly lack.”

Chan whistled. “I liked it better when you were meaner.”

Seungmin rolled his eyes. “You still talk too much.”

“And you still wait for me after class.”

Seungmin didn’t have an answer for that.

It had become a routine without ever being named one. Their classes let out five minutes apart, and at some point—neither of them knew when—it just made sense to meet by the stairs and walk back to the dorm together. Sometimes they talked. Sometimes they didn’t. But Chan always fell into step beside Seungmin, his voice filling the quiet, his shoulder occasionally bumping Seungmin’s.

It wasn’t bad. Seungmin found himself noticing the moments that used to grate on him. Like how Chan never let the door shut on someone behind him, or how he always gave directions with his hands. How expressive his face was. How he greeted the cafeteria workers by name. Even how he went quiet during the walk home when the sky turned pink, like he had to give in to that kind of stillness.

They weren’t close, not really. Not in the way Seungmin was with Hyunjin or Jeongin, not with the kind of history Minho had with Jisung. But it was different now.

One Thursday afternoon, Chan waved off a classmate and fell into step beside Seungmin like he always did.

“Weekend plans?” he asked.

“Not really.” Seungmin adjusted his backpack strap. “I have a quiz Monday.”

Chan groaned. “You always have a quiz.”

“Because I actually care about grades.”

“I care!” Chan gasped. “I just also care about my social life.”

“You went to a party last weekend and ate expired shrimp off someone’s plate.”

“It wasn’t expired. It was… creatively aged.”

Seungmin looked at him, deadpan. “You were sick for two days.”

“It was worth it. I got ten free glow sticks.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Your idiot,” Chan said automatically, like it was a reflex. Then he froze. “I mean. Not yours. Like—figuratively. Like in the roommate way.”

Seungmin blinked at him.

“Just…shut up and keep walking,” he said, turning forward again.

Chan laughed under his breath.

Back at the dorm, the door shut behind them with the familiar clink of keys and the soft whir of the fan by Chan’s bed. It smelled like citrus and laundry detergent and something faintly sweet—Chan had started lighting a vanilla-scented candle after Seungmin complained about the musty air.

“I’m taking the desk first,” Seungmin said, kicking his shoes off.

“You always take the desk first.”

“Because I use it.”

“I use it too.”

“To make messes.”

“To make memories,” Chan corrected, flopping down on his bed.

Seungmin didn’t really smile, but the corners of his mouth lifted just slightly.

He didn’t remember when that started either—smiling when Chan spoke. Rolling his eyes without really meaning it. Looking forward to the sound of the lock turning at the end of the day.

It wasn’t just comfort. It wasn’t friendship, exactly. It definitely wasn’t a crush.

But sometimes, when Chan pushed his hair back and smiled without thinking, or when his voice dipped low while humming through a song under his breath, Seungmin would pause—just a second too long. Like his chest had caught on something.

He never said anything. Didn’t even admit it to himself. Not out loud.

But some part of him, quiet and unnamed, had started to notice: they were becoming something.

Not close friends, but not strangers.

Something in between.

And maybe, just maybe, that something was enough. For now.

The cafeteria was only half-full today, but the noise bounced off the walls like it always did—forks clattering, trays scraping, conversations overlapping. Seungmin sat at the end of the table, his tray mostly untouched. He was rereading a text from Jeongin when someone slid into the seat beside him with a thud. 

“Hey,” Chan said, like it was normal. Like he sat with Seungmin’s friends every day.

“Hi,” Jeongin offered, blinking. Across from him, Hyunjin poked a cherry tomato with his fork and glanced up, curious.

Chan smiled at them all—wide, unbothered—and then turned to Seungmin.

“You doing anything Saturday?”

Seungmin blinked, caught off-guard. “Why?”

“I thought maybe we could hang out. Just us,” Chan said, still casual, still somehow louder than necessary. “Go off campus. Get something that doesn’t taste like recycled cardboard.”

“Oh my god,” Hyunjin whispered gleefully.

“Shut up,” Seungmin muttered at him, then turned back to Chan. “Um… sure. Yeah. I don’t have plans.”

Chan brightened instantly. “Cool. I’ll text you?”

Seungmin nodded. Chan bumped his shoulder lightly before grabbing his tray again and heading off toward his usual group, who were seated near the back by the windows. As soon as he was out of earshot, Jeongin dropped his fork with a clatter.

“You’re going on a date.”

“It’s not a date,” Seungmin said automatically.

“Then why did he look like he just won the lottery?” Hyunjin asked.

Minho, who had just returned with a second slice of cake for Jisung, raised an eyebrow. “What’d I miss?”

“Seungmin just got asked out.”

“It’s not—” Seungmin started.

“He asked him to hang out,” Jeongin explained quickly. “On Saturday. Just them.”

Jisung gasped dramatically. “That’s basically a date. And Chan is so hot. Are you going to wear something cute?”

“I’m going to wear clothes,” Seungmin deadpanned.

Hyunjin leaned across the table, grinning. “You said yes.”

“I said yes so you’d all stop hearing about how ‘the food on campus is sad and I deserve better,’” Seungmin said, mimicking Chan’s accent almost perfectly. “He’s been whining about it for a week.”

“Sure,” Minho said, clearly not buying it.

“Also,” Seungmin added, trying to salvage the last shreds of dignity he had, “he’s not that bad.”

The table went quiet for half a second. Then Jeongin’s mouth dropped open, Hyunjin squealed, and Jisung pointed an accusing finger.

“You like him.”

“I’m leaving,” Seungmin announced, standing up with his tray.

“No, no, wait, come on—what are you gonna wear?” Hyunjin asked, tugging his sleeve.

Seungmin wrenched free. “Whatever makes me look like I hate him.”

“Good luck with that,” Minho said, voice dry. “You already said yes.”

“Once. Calm down.”

Jisung sighed, flopping dramatically against Minho’s shoulder. “God. College romance is real.”

Seungmin rolled his eyes and stalked off, tray in hand, determined not to smile.

Saturday unfolded like it had been waiting for them.

Their dorm was unusually quiet that morning. No loud music from the hall, no rush of feet from people heading to who-knows-where. Just the hum of the AC and the rustle of fabric as Seungmin pulled on a sweater.

Chan was already by the door, keys in one hand, the other buried in his pocket. “Ready?”

Seungmin nodded and followed him out.

They didn’t say much at first. The campus was bathed in light cloud cover, soft gray drifting lazily overhead, like the weather was undecided but not in a hurry to change. The grass was still damp from dew, and the breeze carried that faintly grassy, vaguely nostalgic scent of early fall mornings.

Seungmin glanced sideways as they walked. Chan’s hair was pushed up in the front today. He hadn’t styled it much, just enough to keep it out of his eyes. It made him look softer. Less polished than usual. Seungmin didn’t dwell on that thought too long.

The first stop was the bakery, like Chan had hinted. It was a tiny shop off the main street, tucked between a florist and a corner bookstore, the kind of place you’d miss if you didn’t already know it was there. The door had a little bell that chimed when they walked in.

“Smells like diabetes,” Seungmin muttered.

“Smells like heaven,” Chan countered, already drifting toward the pastry case.

The glass shelves were lined with flaky croissants, soft spiraled buns, and shiny fruit tarts. A cinnamon twist caught Seungmin’s eye, its surface glistening with sugar. Chan chose something that looked like a croissant had gone on a date with a brownie and came back more dramatic.

They paid, grabbed drinks, and took their food to go. Outside, the wind was picking up a little, enough to tug at sleeves and ruffle hair.

Chan led them toward the weekend market, already starting to come alive a few blocks down. Seungmin followed without question.

The square was filled with canvas tents and small booths: handmade jewelry, vintage records. There were even soy candles with stupid names like “Midnight Anxiety” and “Warm Laundry Boyfriend.” A musician stood on the far side playing an acoustic version of some pop song. Seungmin didn’t recognize it, but Chan hummed along because Chan knows everything.

They wandered. Not in a straight line, and certainly not with purpose. Just two boys meandering under canopies of string lights and sun-faded signs, pausing to poke through bins or smell things or point at dogs.

Chan made friends with a vendor selling handmade pins. “Do you think this duck in a tiny sweater represents my soul?” he asked, holding it up.

“No,” Seungmin said flatly. “Yours would be one that says ‘I crave validation.’”

Chan looked through the basket until he found one that said exactly that. “Fair.”

They bought pins. Seungmin didn’t admit it, but he kept glancing at his the rest of the morning — a little ghost wearing headphones. Chan’s was pinned to his hoodie within five minutes.

Next came the bookstore. It wasn’t part of the market, but they were passing it and Chan had said, “Come on,” and Seungmin didn’t say no.

Inside, it smelled like pages and pine cleaner. Seungmin headed toward fiction. Chan wandered off, only to return with a copy of a poetry book.

“You read poetry?” Seungmin asked.

“Not often,” Chan said. “But sometimes I find a line that just…ruins me in a good way.”

“Sounds fake.”

“You’re fake.”

They stayed in the store longer than either of them meant to. There was something about the way it quieted the outside world—the low shelves, the old ceiling fans, the faint jazz playing in the background. They didn’t talk much in there. Just browsed. Close enough to bump elbows sometimes.

Eventually, they left again, blinking into daylight.

Seungmin realized he hadn’t checked his phone in hours. That never happened.

“Where to now?” Seungmin asked.

Chan tilted his head. “Park?”

Seungmin shrugged. “Sure.”

They walked. It wasn’t the fastest route, but Seungmin figured there were worse things than taking a walk with Chan. Chan told him about the time he accidentally walked into the wrong lecture hall and sat through twenty minutes of marine biology before realizing. Seungmin laughed more than he meant to.

They ended up in the park near campus, past the playground and through the trees, where the noise of the city thinned into birdsong and rustling branches. There was a wooden bench near a small, clear pond. Chan sat first and patted the space next to him.

Seungmin stayed standing.

“You think I bite?” Chan asked.

“Yes,” Seungmin said, but he sat down anyway, making sure to leave a careful inch of space between them.

They unwrapped the second half of their pastries. Seungmin’s fingers were a little sticky from the icing, but he didn’t bother wiping them off yet.

Chan stretched his legs out in front of him and let his head tip back. “This was nice.”

Seungmin glanced sideways.

“I mean it,” Chan added. “You don’t usually say yes to stuff.”

“You don’t usually ask me seriously.”

Chan looked at him, one eyebrow slightly raised. “I asked seriously this time.”

“So I said yes.”

A family passed by—a kid on a scooter, trailing their parents, giggling. A couple of students tossed a frisbee nearby, their laughter rising and falling like waves.

Seungmin watched a bird hop around the edge of the pond. “I still don’t get why you invited me.”

Chan leaned back on his elbows. “Because I like being around you.”

Seungmin didn’t reply.

They stayed there until the clouds started to change. They were thicker now, and darker. The sky had gone from pale blue to a hazy steel. The wind carried the scent of rain before the first drops fell.

When they stood, Chan brushed off his hoodie and looked at the sky. “We should head back.”

Seungmin nodded. He didn’t really want to, which was weird, but he did.

They made it two blocks before the rain started. It wasn’t just a drizzle, though. It was a full downpour, sudden and unrelenting, the kind that came without warning. The kind that made people on the street shriek and scramble for cover.

Chan laughed, actually laughed, and tugged his hood up. “We’re gonna get soaked.”

Seungmin cursed under his breath. His sweater was already clinging to him, damp and uncomfortable.

“Come on,” Chan said, grabbing his wrist. “Shortcut.”

Seungmin followed.

Their sneakers slapped against wet pavement as they cut through a narrow alley that opened into a back path toward the school. Rain blurred the edges of the world, turned everything silver and soft. Seungmin’s hair was dripping by the time they reached the edge of the dorm building.

They paused under the eaves, catching their breath.

“Nice day,” Chan said breathlessly.

“You’re insane,” Seungmin muttered, but his voice didn’t hold any real annoyance.

Chan looked over at him, eyes crinkling. “You don’t regret coming?”

Seungmin hesitated.

Chan was soaked. Hair plastered to his forehead. Hoodie dark with rain. But his eyes were warm. Still smiling. Still waiting.

“…No,” Seungmin said quietly.

Chan nodded once. Didn’t say anything else.

They stood there in the doorway for another minute, just watching the rain.

Seungmin didn’t realize until later—much later—that this was the first time he felt like maybe he could get used to being looked at like that. Like he was wanted, just for showing up.

The rain hit them hard the moment they stepped out from under the overhang.

Cold needles of water, stabbing down through the air, soaking their hair and clothes within seconds. Seungmin cursed under his breath, already regretting not bringing an umbrella — though, realistically, nothing would’ve helped. The storm had rolled in out of nowhere, the sky an iron slab above them, thunder grumbling in the distance like something still waking up.

“Shit, it’s freezing,” he muttered, yanking his hood over his head. It did nothing. The wind shoved it right off again.

Next to him, Chan pulled his hoodie tighter and squinted up at the clouds. “We should run.”

“No,” Seungmin snapped. “Then we’ll just get soaked faster.”

Chan snorted but didn’t argue. They kept walking, huddled close as they took a shortcut through the courtyard, shoes splashing in quickly forming puddles. Seungmin hunched his shoulders and tucked his chin into his shirt collar. He was shivering. His sleeves were plastered to his arms.

Chan glanced at him once. Twice.

Then he started tugging at the hem of his hoodie.

Seungmin clocked it immediately. “Don’t.”

“You’re soaked,” Chan said. “Just take it.”

“I don’t want it. It’s wet.”

“Seungmin—”

“You’ll get cold.”

“I’m already wet. It’s fine.”

Chan peeled the hoodie off and held it out. His shirt underneath was just a thin, white tee that clung to him in all the wrong ways — Seungmin looked away too fast, jaw tight.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Stop babying me.”

“I’m not—” Chan laughed, exasperated. “You’re literally shivering.”

“I’ll live.”

Chan stopped walking. Right in the middle of the sidewalk, in the pouring rain.

Seungmin stopped too, glaring. “What now?”

Chan stared at him, his eyes soft despite the rain slicking his hair flat and running down his face. His hoodie hung between them like a peace offering. “Just put it on.”

Seungmin’s arms were crossed, but his body was shaking. He hated that Chan could see it. Hated even more that Chan cared.

Still, he didn’t move.

Chan stepped forward, grumbling something under his breath, and forced the hoodie into Seungmin’s hands. “Take it.”

“You’re so stubborn—”

“Look who’s talking.”

Seungmin hesitated. Just for a second. Then, huffing like it was the biggest inconvenience in the world, he yanked the hoodie over his head.

It was warm. Stupidly warm.

It smelled like whatever soap Chan used, and faintly of fabric softener. And rain. It wasn’t unpleasant, Seungmin supposed. 

Seungmin didn’t say thank you.

Chan didn’t expect him to.

They kept walking.

By the time they made it back to the dorm, their shoes squelched with every step and Seungmin’s pants were soaked halfway up his thighs. The hoodie helped—his arms weren’t numb anymore—but he still slammed the door behind them like it was Chan’s fault the sky had opened up.

Chan toed off his sneakers and shook out his hair like a wet dog. “That was kinda fun.”

“I hope you get sick,” Seungmin said flatly.

“You’d miss me if I did.”

“Debatable.”

Chan grinned. Seungmin glared, already pulling the hoodie off the second he reached the middle of the room. He walked over to Chan’s bed and threw it hard at the pillows. It hit with a wet thwap.

“There. I wore it. Happy?”

Chan didn’t stop smiling. “Admit it. It was cozy.”

“It smelled weird.”

“You sniffed it?”

“No—” Seungmin turned, ears tinged pink. “Shut up.”

He grabbed his towel from the desk chair and stormed into the bathroom.

The door slammed behind him. Again.

Chan laughed to himself and picked the hoodie up from his bed. It was damp now, but he held it for a second longer than necessary before tossing it into the laundry bin.

The bathroom door clicked shut behind Seungmin, and the sound of the storm faded into nothing but a dull hiss beyond the walls.

Seungmin let the towel slip from his fingers onto the counter and leaned against the sink, arms braced, head bowed. Water dripped from the ends of his hair, darkening the edge of his shirt collar. His heart was still beating too fast. Not from the rain. Not from the cold.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

You sniffed it?

No—shut up.

God. He hated him.

Except he didn’t. That was the problem.

He straightened up and peeled the soaked shirt from his torso with a wince. It clung to him like a second skin, wet fabric dragging over cold skin, and hit the floor with a heavy slap. He got the rest of his clothes off quickly — pants, socks, boxers — and stepped into the shower like it might undo the last twenty minutes of his life.

Hot water poured over him in a heavy stream, steaming against his skin, and he exhaled for the first time since walking through the dorm doors.

At least here, he could be alone.

No teasing.

No grins.

No warm fucking hoodies smelling like citrus and something darker underneath like sandalwood, maybe, or the ghost of Chan’s cologne.

Seungmin pressed his palms to the tiled wall and let his head hang forward under the stream. Drops rolled down his back in twisting lines, hot enough to burn. He welcomed it.

Just take it.

You’re literally shivering.

Admit it. It was cozy.

He hated the way Chan talked to him like they were already close. Like he had some kind of right to care. Like he wasn’t the one who flirted with anything that breathed, who touched people so easily, who left trails of stupid giggles and dreamy stares in his wake.

Seungmin had seen him surrounded by people, all those girls lighting up when he smiled at them. The pink clip girl. The brunette by the vending machines. That sophomore in one of Chan’s math classes who always sat too close. Seungmin could tell when he peered through the door on the days he picked Chan up. 

And yet, somehow, it was Seungmin who got the hoodie.

Seungmin who Chan teased the most.

Seungmin who couldn’t stop thinking about the way his fingers brushed his wrist while handing it over.

He let out a short, bitter sound. Something between a laugh and a sigh.

“This is pathetic,” he muttered to no one.

He washed quickly. Shampoo, body wash, rinse. Mechanic, efficient. The warmth dulled his muscles, loosened the tension coiled between his shoulders. But nothing touched the part of him that was still buzzing with something he didn’t want to name.

When he stepped out and wrapped the towel around his waist, the bathroom mirror was fully fogged. He didn’t bother wiping it.

He didn’t want to see the look on his own face.

Chapter Text

The cafeteria buzzed with Monday noise—trays clattering, chairs dragging, someone laughing way too loud near the vending machine. Seungmin slid his tray onto the table where Hyunjin, Jeongin, Jisung, and Minho were already gathered. There was an open seat next to Hyunjin. Unfortunately, next to that seat was Jeongin, already grinning.

“You’re late,” Jeongin said, propping his chin in his hand.

“Got caught up after lab,” Seungmin muttered, stabbing a piece of chicken with his fork.

Hyunjin tilted his head, eyes glittering. “Hmm. Interesting. Because Chan walked out of the same building twenty minutes ago.”

Minho took a long sip of his drink and deadpanned, “How was your little date?”

“It wasn’t a date.”

“Oh?” Jisung blinked innocently. “So you two accidentally went to a bunch of shops and then walked around the lake and then got caught in the rain and then you accidentally wore his hoodie?”

“I wasn’t even wearing it when we got back. Wait, how’d you—”

“You’re not denying it,” Jeongin sang.

Seungmin gave them a flat look and shoved a bite of rice in his mouth, chewing slowly, as if ignoring them would make them go away. It never did.

“He texted me that night,” Hyunjin said, pulling out his phone. “‘Just got back. Seungmin’s soaked. Gave him my hoodie. He complained but wore it anyway.’”

Jeongin made a mock-dreamy sigh. “So romantic.”

Seungmin glared. “You’re all insufferable. Wait, Hyunjin, you have his number??”

“You’re glowing,” Hyunjin shot back. “When’s the wedding?”

“I don’t even like him like that.”

Jisung snorted into his drink and Minho immediately handed him a napkin. “Sure,” he said, dry as ever. “You hang out with him in your free time, sit next to him every class, and he literally offered you the last strawberry tart at brunch yesterday.”

“It was the last one?” Hyunjin said, scandalized.

Seungmin groaned into his hands. “Can we not do this today?”

“Okay, okay,” Jeongin said, raising his hands in surrender, though his grin stayed sharp. “No more teasing. Tell us what you did then.”

Seungmin hesitated, fingers picking at the edge of his napkin. “We went to a little pastry shop first,” he said eventually. 

Jeongin laughed. “That sounds like his idea.”

Seungmin rolled his eyes. “Then we walked around a bit. Got snacks. It started raining on the way back.”

“A rom-com plot,” Hyunjin whispered, delighted.

“I complained about his hoodie. He told me to suck it up. Then I took a shower.”

Minho blinked. “You skipped all the parts that mattered.”

Seungmin flushed. “Nothing mattered,” he said through gritted teeth. “It was just a hangout. That’s what he called it.”

“But did you like it?” Jisung asked, voice gentler now.

That made Seungmin pause.

He glanced down at his tray. Pushed his rice around a little. His voice came out lower. “Yeah. It was…nice.”

The silence after that was full of exchanged glances and barely restrained smiles. Seungmin felt the heat climb his neck again.

“God, I hate you all.”

“You love us,” Hyunjin beamed, clinging to his arm like it was legally binding.

Minho raised his eyebrows. “Almost as much as you love—”

“Finish that sentence and I’m stabbing your eyes with my chopsticks.”

“Love lunch,” Minho said smoothly, reaching for another dumpling.

Spring meant two things: pollen and panic. Midterms had given way to final projects, and the campus air felt thick with anticipation — not just of summer, but of the soft, blurry kind of dread that came from too many late nights and never enough caffeine. Everyone was tired. Everyone was sunburnt or half-asleep or both.

Their dorm had settled into a familiar rhythm. Seungmin and Chan had learned to coexist with near-effortless ease: Chan did the dishes, Seungmin managed their laundry schedule, and they fought over who got to shower depending on who got up first.

This morning, it was Seungmin. His alarm went off at 7:30 sharp—no snoozing—and he dragged himself into the shower with half-lidded eyes and a sore neck from sleeping weird.

He stood under the hot stream with his forehead against the wall, exhaling slow and steady. His ribs ached from laughing too hard the night before, because him and the rest of his group got together and Chan had tried to rap along to a playlist Jisung made and ended up choking on his water in the middle of it. Idiot. Talented idiot. Too good at making people laugh.

The shower curtain was thin and mostly opaque, and Seungmin didn’t hear the footsteps until it was too late.

The door creaked open.

“Oh, shit—!”

Seungmin spun around instinctively, soap still in his hair. “Are you fucking kidding me—?!”

There was a horrible moment of flailing on both ends. Chan cursed, slammed the door shut again, and shouted through the wood, “I thought you were still asleep!”

“I’m in the goddamn shower, you maniac!”

“I didn’t know!”

“Do you usually barge into rooms with running water and assume they’re empty?!”

“I didn’t hear it! I was half asleep! I didn’t—fuck, I’m sorry, okay?!”

Seungmin shoved his hair back and groaned loud enough for it to echo. “You’re unbelievable.”

There was the sound of retreating footsteps, then silence.

A few minutes passed as Seungmin rinsed out his hair before he stepped out with a towel slung low around his waist, another over his hair. He walked straight into their room and found Chan sitting stiffly on his bed, scrolling through his phone with an expression like a kicked puppy.

Seungmin dropped the towel from his head and rubbed at his temple. “You’re such an idiot.”

Chan flinched. “I said I was sorry.”

“Yeah, and you sounded so sincere from behind the door.”

“It’s not like I meant to—”

Seungmin crossed his arms. “Seen enough for one semester?”

Chan turned bright red. “No! I mean, yes! I mean—I didn’t see anything, I swear!”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Seungmin cracked the smallest grin.

Chan blinked. “Wait—are you laughing?”

“I mean… it’s kind of your own fault,” Seungmin said, still chuckling, even as he rubbed at the back of his neck. “You’re lucky I didn’t throw the shampoo bottle at your face.”

“I would’ve deserved it.”

“You still might.”

Chan groaned and flopped back onto his mattress. “Can we pretend this never happened?”

Seungmin tilted his head, hair damp and curling slightly at his temple. “Why? Embarrassed?”

“I walked in on you naked.”

“Briefly.”

“Naked.”

“You screamed louder than I did.”

“Out of respect!”

Seungmin couldn’t help it—he laughed for real this time, chest rising with it, and Chan peeked at him from where he lay sprawled, trying not to smile too obviously.

There was something different about moments like this now, how easy it was. How joking didn’t feel like jabbing anymore. No tension. No sharp edges. Just the soft, harmless kind of teasing that sat in the air like sunlight. They’d started orbiting each other without even noticing, some steady gravity pulling them close every time.

When Seungmin sat on his bed to pull on a pair of socks, Chan caught himself watching without thinking.

He liked this version of Seungmin: towel draped around his shoulders, freshly showered and flushed, hair messy but eyes sharp. Comfortable. Like he belonged here.

Seungmin caught the look and arched an eyebrow. “You good?”

Chan startled. “Huh?”

“You’re staring.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

Chan made a strangled noise and rolled over to bury his face in a pillow. “I hate you.”

“Sure you do.”

Finals week hit hard, but not as hard as the realization that the year was actually ending.

Seungmin hadn’t thought about it much until the campus started thinning out. Dorms were emptying one by one, the café was offering fewer menu options, professors were handing back papers with the kind of soft exhaustion only grading a hundred undergrad essays could bring.

By the time their last class ended, the sky was heavy with early summer heat and the grass outside the library had been overtaken by sprawled-out students in sunglasses and ripped jeans, sipping iced coffees and pretending not to dread their last exams.

Seungmin and Chan fell into an easy rhythm that week: silent study sessions broken only by music or the rustling of instant ramen packets. Seungmin would write notes on their mirror in whiteboard marker to remind Chan to eat. Chan would steal Seungmin’s leftover mochas and pretend it wasn’t on purpose.

On Friday, with their last test behind them, they walked to lunch like usual—not really talking, just comfortable in the silence, the kind that only came from months of being stuck with each other and just getting each other.

They sat with the usual chaos: Minho and Jisung on one side, Jeongin trying to keep Hyunjin from throwing grapes across the table, Felix giggling with Changbin over a meme on someone’s phone.

It was loud, happy, and a little messy. The way endings sometimes were.

Chan set his tray down beside Seungmin and slid into the seat with a long exhale. “God, I feel like I’ve aged ten years.”

“You’ve always looked like that,” Seungmin muttered, taking a bite of his sandwich.

Chan gasped in mock betrayal, nudging him with his shoulder. “Cruel. Mean.”

“Accurate.”

“Still hurts.”

Seungmin didn’t bother to argue. Chan had started calling everything “mean” lately, especially when Seungmin roasted him in public. It didn’t stop him from doing it again five minutes later.

Across the table, Hyunjin squinted at them, a smile creeping up one side of his mouth. “You guys gonna be this codependent all summer or…?”

“We’re not codependent,” Seungmin said at the same time Chan said, “Probably.”

Jeongin coughed into his drink. “You’re literally finishing each other’s sentences now.”

“We’re not,” Seungmin insisted, then paused. “I mean, I didn’t know he was gonna say that.”

“Sure,” Minho drawled. “Totally a coincidence you guys arrive together, leave together, sit together, and share food like a married couple.”

Chan gave a mock-shy smile. “It’s true love.”

Seungmin deadpanned, “If it is, I want a divorce.”

The table cracked up. Jisung flung a napkin at him. “You’re impossible!”

Chan just grinned. “He’s a little less impossible now than he was in September. I call that growth.”

Seungmin ignored him in favor of finishing his fries, but there was a warmth under his skin that didn’t come from the cafeteria heating.

As they packed up to leave, standing by the exit in a slow-moving shuffle, Chan glanced sideways.

He looked… oddly subdued.

“What,” Seungmin said.

Chan shrugged. “Just realizing it’s our last lunch here. For the year.”

“Yeah?”

Chan rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m gonna miss you.”

Seungmin blinked.

The words weren’t dramatic. Chan hadn’t looked at him when he said it. But they still landed like a pebble in water — quiet and rippling.

Seungmin cleared his throat. “You know we can hang out, right?”

Chan turned to him, eyes wide. “We can?”

Seungmin gave him a flat look. “You’re so dumb.”

Then — to both their surprise — Chan laughed. Really laughed. He leaned slightly toward Seungmin like he always did when something delighted him too much to contain.

“Yeah,” Seungmin said, rolling his eyes but not moving away, “I guess I’ll allow it.”

Their friends were still gathering their things behind them, but that didn’t stop Jisung from catching the moment and pointing like he’d won a bet.

“See? I told you Seungmin liked him.”

Hyunjin made a triumphant noise. “You owe me bubble tea!”

Felix giggled. “This is so cute I’m gonna cry.”

Seungmin groaned and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I hate all of you.”

Chan beamed. “Love you too.”

Seungmin didn’t respond, but he didn’t move away either.

The guest mattress in Minho’s apartment had seen better days. Probably in 2011. It was lumpy, slightly tilted, and made a noise like a dying raccoon every time Seungmin shifted in his sleep. Still, it was better than staying with his parents for a month and a half, and way better than crashing on Changbin’s floor again like he’d done last winter break, only to wake up to motivational grunts from the weight bench.

Minho and Jisung were good hosts, technically. Jisung handed him the Wi-Fi password and an extra pair of slippers before he’d even taken off his shoes. Minho cooked for three like it was second nature. They let Seungmin pick movies. They even gave him one of their pillows — the good kind, not the flat, fake-cotton ones you get in student housing.

But good hospitality didn’t mean good timing.

“Seriously?” Seungmin muttered into his half-empty glass of soda. He was curled up in the corner of the couch, wearing Minho’s old hoodie and trying to focus on the episode of Hospital Playlist they’d started an hour ago.

Across the room, Jisung was sitting on Minho’s lap.

Not next to him. Not with him. On him.

They weren’t even kissing — just whispering and giggling into each other’s necks like lovesick middle schoolers. It wasn’t even ten yet.

Seungmin cleared his throat. Loudly.

Neither of them flinched.

“I can leave,” he said flatly, but they didn’t respond, so he said it again, sharper this time. “I can leave, y’know.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Jisung said without looking up. “You’re part of the family.”

“I don’t want to be part of this family.”

Minho finally turned his head, one hand absently stroking Jisung’s thigh. “We’re not even doing anything.”

“You’re doing each other’s taxes with your eyes.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Jisung said, but he was giggling.

“I’m going to bed,” Seungmin snapped, standing up and grabbing the blanket that had fallen to the floor.

“But the episode—”

“I’ll watch it without the excessive moaning soundtrack, thanks.”

—

The next morning wasn’t better.

Jisung liked mornings now. This was new. He and Minho had somehow become one of those couples — the kind that made breakfast together with music playing in the background and dumb inside jokes about who put too much sugar in the coffee.

Seungmin walked in just as Minho was kissing the top of Jisung’s head and saying, “You’ll rot your teeth, you know.”

Jisung made a heart with his hands and said, “Worth it.”

Seungmin made a retching noise and walked past them to get the cereal.

They had exactly one box of cornflakes. No milk. Just almond creamer and oat milk.

He poured the cereal anyway, sat down, and tried not to seem interested as Minho hummed along to the Day6 song playing from his Bluetooth speaker.

“You good?” Jisung asked, sitting across from him with a banana and a protein bar.

“No,” Seungmin said.

Minho laughed. “You’re always in such a great mood.”

“You guys were cuddling to Loona ballads last night. I should’ve brought earplugs.”

“Sorry we love each other,” Jisung said, not sounding sorry at all.

“Be less loud about it.”

—

The day dragged on. Jisung had a part-time shift at the bookstore, and Minho went with him for coffee after. Seungmin was left alone in the apartment, flipping through channels on the TV and halfheartedly scrolling on his phone. Everyone was busy. Even Felix, who usually texted him about whatever game he was playing, was suspiciously quiet.

Seungmin thought about calling Hyunjin but decided against it. Hyunjin and Jeongin had been spending more and more time alone, and the last time Seungmin called, Hyunjin answered with flushed cheeks and something like bedhead, so… no.

He tried to nap. The mattress squeaked in protest.

That night, they all had dinner together — kimchi stew and rice and the homemade cucumber banchan Minho was weirdly proud of. It was good. Seungmin would never say that out loud, though.

“I’m making your favorite tomorrow,” Minho said.

“I don’t have a favorite.”

Jisung elbowed him. “You liked that gochujang chicken, right?”

“It was edible.”

“You said it was the only reason you’re not malnourished.”

“I was being nice.”

Minho smirked. “We should record his compliments and play them back when we’re feeling sad.”

Jisung perked up. “That’s a great idea. We can call it the Seungmin Affirmation Hotline.”

“Stop talking to me!”

“You’re my best friend!”

“You’re my biggest regret!”

Minho snorted into his bowl.

—

By the end of the week, Seungmin was crawling up the walls.

He loved his friends. Objectively.

He was also going to stab them with a fork if he heard them call each other baby one more time.

He was watching a nature documentary when Minho came out of the bedroom in nothing but sweats and a towel slung around his neck. Jisung trailed after him a moment later, still shirtless, rubbing lotion into his face.

Seungmin turned the volume up.

“Do you want to watch something else?” Minho offered.

“I want to watch you move out.”

Jisung flopped onto the couch beside him. “You’re getting cranky.”

“I’m already cranky.”

“Okay, but why are you extra cranky? Missing someone?”

“No.”

“Oh my God,” Jisung said, grabbing his arm. “Is this about Chan?”

Seungmin didn’t even flinch. “Don’t.”

“It’s been, like, ten days. Did he ghost you? He totally ghosted you.”

“He didn’t ghost me.”

“He did!”

“He’s just—busy.”

“Mm-hm,” Jisung said, already grinning like a gremlin. “And you’re not disappointed at all.”

Seungmin threw a pillow at him.

—

By the next morning, even the sight of Minho brushing Jisung’s bangs out of his eyes made Seungmin want to put his head through the microwave.

It was stupid. He wasn’t bitter. Not exactly. He was just…full.

Full of love that wasn’t his. Full of softness that wasn’t meant for him. It was like looking into a bakery window, starving.

He didn’t want a boyfriend. He didn’t want a relationship.

He just maybe wanted someone to text him first. Someone to remember him when nothing was happening.

Someone like—

His phone buzzed.

annoying bitch 🐺:

hey

u still alive??

He stared at his phone like it had called him ugly.

Minho walked into the living room just in time to catch his expression.

“Bad news?” he asked, poking around the fridge for juice.

Seungmin locked the screen and shoved his phone into the couch cushions. “Nope.”

Jisung wandered in behind Minho, still yawning. “You look constipated.”

“Your face looks constipated.”

“Wow,” Minho said, straight-faced. “Was that a flirtation?”

“I will leave.”

“Do it. You won’t.”

Seungmin did not. Instead, he sat through another morning of passive couple PDA while trying to sneak glances at his phone like it hadn’t just made his pulse spike. Chan hadn’t texted him since the last day of spring semester. There hadn’t been a fight. No weird tension. No passive-aggressive emojis. Just a casual, “see you around,” and then nothing.

Now, out of nowhere—

u still alive?

What was he supposed to say to that?

Yeah. You?

Barely. You forgot I existed.

I’ve been living in a romantic sitcom against my will. Save me.

He sighed and typed out a reply. Deleted it. Tried again.

you: 

barely

i’m stuck in minsung hell

Sent.

Chan responded immediately.

annoying bitch 🐺: 

that’s on you bro

i offered you my place 😌

Seungmin stared. Read it twice. Then rolled his eyes so hard his vision blurred.

you: 

yeah and then didn’t text me for like 3 weeks

A pause.

annoying bitch 🐺: 

ouch

that’s fair tho

Another pause. Seungmin tapped the edge of his phone, heart thumping slightly faster.

annoying bitch 🐺:

 sry

Three letters. It made him blink.

annoying bitch 🐺:

i was gonna

idk

i wanted to talk to you but i figured you were busy or whatever

Seungmin exhaled through his nose. He could picture Chan saying it, all airy and unsure, scratching the back of his neck like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to miss him.

He didn’t know what to say to that. Not without sounding pathetic.

you: 

not that busy

Chan heart-reacted the message. Seconds later:

annoying bitch 🐺: 

wanna hang out?

Seungmin didn’t answer right away. Not because he didn’t want to — he did. Way too much, maybe. But suddenly his skin was prickling with nerves, like something had shifted and he wasn’t sure if it was good or bad yet.

In the background, Jisung was humming a love song and Minho was frying eggs. The apartment smelled like toast and sweetness and the overwhelming sense of being left out

you: 

sure

when?

They settled on Friday.

Which gave Seungmin four days to spiral.

He didn’t tell Minho or Jisung. He didn’t need to tell them — Minho kept raising his eyebrows every time Seungmin checked his phone, and Jisung had caught him smiling at a meme Chan sent Wednesday night.

“You like him,” Jisung sing-songed in the bathroom mirror as Seungmin brushed his teeth.

“I like when people text back,” Seungmin said around the toothbrush.

“That’s not denial, that’s sarcasm.”

“Exactly.”

Jisung narrowed his eyes like he was mentally drafting a group chat update.

Later that night, while Minho and Jisung were cuddling in bed with a movie, Seungmin curled up with his phone and tried not to stare at the blue light too long. Chan had sent another message.

annoying bitch 🐺: 

i forgot how annoying you are lol

He sent a picture with it. It was one of those ridiculous sticker-covered photobooth prints from an arcade, slightly blurry and mostly neon, showing the two of them last semester—Chan with one arm flung dramatically around Seungmin’s neck, and Seungmin mid-eye-roll with a huge, unmistakable grin.

Seungmin’s stomach did something stupid.

annoying bitch 🐺:

you look like you’re being held hostage

or like you’re lowkey enjoying it

def the second one

u miss me or nah

He stared at that message longer than he should’ve.

you: 

no but i’ll show up anyway

Chan replied with a wolf emoji and a sparkles sticker. Seungmin set his phone down and buried his face in the pillow, groaning quietly into the mattress.

Friday came.

The apartment was quiet for once — Minho and Jisung had driven out to visit Minho’s mom and wouldn’t be back until Saturday night. Seungmin had the entire place to himself, and he still paced around like a feral cat looking for somewhere to panic.

He changed his outfit three times. He wasn’t even trying to impress anyone, but every shirt felt too stiff or too casual or too much like he was trying not to care. He settled on a soft black tee and jeans, ran a hand through his hair, and grabbed his bag before he could overthink it again.

Chan had texted him the time and location — some new dessert café that opened near the riverfront. Seungmin hadn’t been there before, but he looked it up and approved of the menu. Plus, it had air-conditioning and allegedly very good waffles.

He didn’t want to admit he was excited.

He was definitely excited.

Chan was already outside when Seungmin arrived.

He was leaning against the brick wall beside the café’s window, head tipped back toward the sun like he hadn’t been worried about showing up first. His hair looked lighter in the sunlight, bleached out a bit more at the ends than it had been a few months ago, and he was wearing a loose black tank and joggers, one hand tucked into his pocket and the other holding a cold drink.

He didn’t see Seungmin right away. His gaze was somewhere else — across the street, maybe. There was a smile playing faintly on his mouth, soft and calm, like he had all the time in the world.

Seungmin felt something twist in his chest.

“Hey,” he said, finally, stepping up onto the curb.

Chan turned toward the sound. When he saw him, that smile lifted all the way.

“There you are,” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Seungmin rolled his eyes. “Don’t act like you’ve been waiting forever. I’m literally on time.”

“Right on the dot,” Chan agreed, and held the door open for him. “Such a good boy.”

“Say that again and I’m going home.”

Chan grinned. “Aw, you missed this.”

Seungmin didn’t answer. 

Inside, the café was cool and quiet, the air filled with the scent of espresso and sugar. There were a few people scattered around — mostly students with laptops, a couple of girls sharing a milkshake in the corner — but it wasn’t too busy.

They found a booth near the back, tucked slightly out of view, with a big window overlooking the riverfront. Chan slid into the seat first and looked up expectantly. “You gonna sit or just stand there menacingly?”

“I’m deciding if I regret this yet.”

“You don’t.”

Seungmin sat.

Chan passed him a menu with a smug look. “I already know what I’m getting. You’re gonna panic last minute, I can feel it.”

“I don’t panic.”

“You overthink. Same difference.”

Seungmin ignored him, flipping the menu open. There were waffles, parfaits, ice cream sundaes, fruit tarts, milkshakes, mochi donuts — entirely too many options.

Chan wasn’t wrong. He was overthinking.

“You’ve gotten worse,” Seungmin muttered.

Chan sipped from his drink. “You missed it.”

“I missed not living with you.”

“Liar.”

The teasing was familiar, but it didn’t carry the same sharp edge it used to. Chan’s tone was gentler now, less like he was trying to get a rise out of him and more like he just liked the way Seungmin reacted — like he liked him, even when Seungmin glared or rolled his eyes or said things like—

“I should’ve stayed in hell with Minho and Jisung.”

Chan laughed. “No you shouldn’t have. You’d be stuck watching them flirt over cereal.”

“I was. For three weeks. Jisung doesn’t even like cereal.”

“That’s true love.”

“Gross.”

They both grinned.

When the waitress came by, Chan ordered some caramel waffle monstrosity and an iced latte, while Seungmin finally settled on matcha pancakes and a strawberry soda.

“Look at you,” Chan said, impressed. “You ordered like a real person.”

“Don’t start.”

“Your cheeks are a little pink.”

“Because it’s hot.”

“It’s air-conditioned in here.”

“Shut up, oh my god.”

Chan smiled like he’d won something. “You’re funnier when you’re flustered.”

Seungmin stabbed his straw into the soda and looked out the window. The river shimmered in the late afternoon light. People passed on bikes, couples walking dogs, kids with melting popsicles. It was warm, and quiet, and—

Nice. It was nice.

Chan shifted in the booth, one leg drawn up casually beside him. “Hey.”

Seungmin glanced over.

“I really am glad you came.”

The words were simple. Unassuming. But Chan was watching him carefully, like it mattered what he said next.

“Yeah,” Seungmin muttered, eyes dropping to the table. “Me too.”

Their food arrived shortly after. Chan immediately stole a bite of Seungmin’s pancakes and made a dramatic noise of approval.

“These are incredible.”

“You’re gonna get stabbed.”

“Totally worth it.”

Seungmin pushed the plate slightly closer to himself and dug in. The pancakes were good — soft, slightly sweet, with a delicate matcha flavor that didn’t taste like grass. He didn’t say it out loud, but Chan must’ve seen the change in his expression because he grinned again, pleased.

They ate in companionable silence for a while, only breaking it occasionally to make fun of the couple in the corner feeding each other whipped cream or to complain about how expensive everything was.

Eventually, Chan leaned back in his seat and stretched, arms over his head. “Man, I missed this.”

“Sugar?”

“You. Talking to you. Being idiots together.”

“Wow. You’re getting sentimental.”

“Maybe.”

“You’re gonna cry next.”

Chan smirked. “Only if you say something nice to me.”

“Then you’re safe.”

They both laughed.

Outside, the sky was starting to dim — the kind of hazy gold that came just before sunset. Seungmin sipped the last of his drink and glanced at the window again. “You ready?”

Chan glanced at his watch. “Yeah. I’ll walk you back.”

“Why? You think I’ll get kidnapped?”

“No,” Chan said. “I just… want to walk with you.”

Seungmin looked at him.

Chan looked genuine.

He ducked his head quickly. “Whatever. Let’s go before you get all weird.”

Chan bumped his shoulder on the way out. “Too late.”

Minho and Jisung had refused to give him a spare key.

“Think of it as an incentive to come home at a reasonable hour,” Minho had said, smug.

“You’ll knock anyway,” Jisung had added. “You love the drama.”

So now, as the sun slid lower and the air turned gold around them, Seungmin trudged up the apartment stairs with Chan beside him and lifted his hand to knock twice — sharp and quick.

Almost immediately, the door flung open.

Minho blinked at them once. Then a slow, terrible smile spread across his face. “Well, well.”

“Don’t,” Seungmin warned.

“Look who it is,” Jisung sang, appearing over Minho’s shoulder. His eyes landed on Chan, then flicked back to Seungmin with devastating speed. “Back from your little date, are we?”

“It wasn’t a date.”

“It was a walk back from a dessert café, where you spent two hours alone with your extremely hot roommate,” Minho said thoughtfully. “That counts.”

Seungmin scowled. “Don’t you have jobs?”

“Not today,” Jisung said, and yanked the door open wider. “You coming in, Casanova?”

Chan, somehow still standing politely behind him, gave a sheepish wave. “Hey, guys.”

Minho turned to him and said, very sincerely, “Good work.”

“I hate this,” Seungmin muttered. He shoved past them and headed for the kitchen like he hadn’t just been emotionally ambushed at the front door.

Jisung poked his head around the corner. “Want us to leave the apartment to you two?”

Chan chuckled. “We’re good. Just dropping him off.”

“Tragic,” Minho sighed. “I wanted to witness the first kiss.”

Seungmin made a violent noise into the fridge.

When he turned back around with a bottle of water, Chan was still in the entryway, smiling like he wasn’t fazed at all.

“I should go,” he said, eyes warm. “You’ll text me?”

Seungmin hesitated.

“Eventually,” he said.

Chan nodded, clearly unbothered. “Okay. Night, Min. Night guys.”

“Bye, lover boy!” Jisung called after him.

Chan only laughed.

The door closed. There was a brief moment of silence.

Then Jisung turned to Seungmin with the force of a thousand suns. “He gave you a nickname. He gave you a nickname.”

“I will bite you.”

“Did you hold hands?”

“No.”

Minho leaned against the counter. “But you wanted to.”

Seungmin opened the water bottle. “I’m going to drink this and pretend I live alone.”

“Bet it was romantic,” Jisung murmured, nudging Minho. “I bet Chan opened doors and laughed at your jokes and said something like you’re the only person I want to be with right now, Seungmin.”

Minho clutched his heart. “I’d swoon.”

“You’re both freaks.”

“We support you.”

“No you don’t,” Seungmin muttered, heading for the couch. “You just like making me miserable.”

They followed him anyway.

And later, when they were all crammed onto the couch watching the world’s worst horror movie and Seungmin’s phone buzzed with a text from Chan that just said today was nice, he smiled a little to himself and didn’t say anything.

But Jisung saw the screen and made a noise so loud it startled the cat.