Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

the familiar, frantic ping of a league of legends match notification cut through the quiet of jisung’s dorm room. on screen, a message from ‘pyong’ popped up in their private chat.

pyong: u ready to get carried superexpert? i’m feeling dangerous today

jisung, ‘superexpert’ to his online friend of eight months, allowed a small, smug smile to touch his lips. he cracked his knuckles, the sound loud in the quiet room.

superexpert: you mean you’re ready to watch a master at work. try to keep up.

the game began, and so did their usual ritual. pyong played with a kind of chaotic, aggressive flair that should have gotten him killed every thirty seconds, but somehow he weaved through battles with the grace of a startled squirrel. jisung, on the other hand, believed his playstyle was methodical, strategic. it was not. he missed skill shots with a consistency that bordered on artistic, and his idea of a strategic retreat was often just him running away a full ten seconds after the fight was already lost.

pyong: master. you just flashed into a wall.

superexpert: it was a tactical reset. you wouldn’t understand the meta.

pyong: the meta of looking like a bot? yeah, i’m not that advanced.

they lost. spectacularly. jisung sighed, sinking back into his chair. pyong was already spamming the chat with a post-mortem analysis that was 80% complaints about their teammates and 20% thinly veiled insults aimed at jisung’s last failed play. it was comfortable. it was easy. it was the highlight of most of his evenings.

—

the morning sun was a personal insult. jisung burrowed deeper under his duvet, a groggy groan escaping him. the door to his dorm room creaked open to reveal mark, his roommate, who looked at him with the profound exhaustion of a man who had seen the universe’s entire cycle of birth and death and was deeply unimpressed by it.

“up,” mark said, his voice flat. he was twenty-four but radiated the energy of a divorced dad who’d just found out his alimony payments were increasing. “you have that history gen-ed in an hour. the one you don’t major in.”

“five more minutes,” jisung mumbled into his pillow.

“i’m not your mom, jisung. i’m just a guy trying to get his business degree and forget the crushing weight of my student loans.” mark sighed, a long, suffering sound, and tossed a clean-ish hoodie in jisung’s direction. “i made coffee. it tastes like bitterness and regret, but it has caffeine.”

jisung dragged himself upright and shuffled into their small common area. jeno was there, meticulously arranging what looked like a truly alarming amount of egg whites on two plates. he was built like someone who frequented the gym and understood protein shakes on a spiritual level, but his face was permanently set to ‘gentle samoyed’.

“morning,” jeno beamed, pushing a plate towards jisung. “eat. you need protein to focus.”

“i need a lobotomy to get through history of the ming dynasty,” jisung grumbled, but he took the plate. he poked at the eggs. “why are they so… white? did you drain the colour out of them as a punishment for their sins?”

jeno’s smile tightened. “it’s just egg whites. they’re healthy.”

“they look sad. like they’ve seen the future and it’s just more egg whites.”

“you know, for a guy who’s built like a stick insect, you have a lot of opinions on nutrition,” jeno shot back, his brow furrowing. the dog was showing his teeth.

“for a guy who’s built like a brick wall, you have the mental fortitude of a damp napkin,” jisung said calmly, taking a bite. “it’s a fascinating paradox.”

jeno looked genuinely wounded for a second before his face settled into a pout. “you’re the worst.”

the front door swung open and jaemin glided in, looking immaculate and slightly sinister, as always. he dropped his bag with a heavy thud. “my new lab partner is going to be the death of me. his name is renjun. he corrected my pipetting technique for forty-five minutes. forty-five. i thought his eyebrow was going to permanently ascend into his hairline.”

jeno was immediately at his side, the pout vanishing, replaced by pure, undivided concern. “that’s awful, jaem. do you want my egg whites? they’re full of… supportive proteins. for stress.”

jaemin eyed the plate with distaste. “no, thank you, jen. i’d rather eat the lab report.” he then turned his sharp gaze to jisung. “why do you look like you slept in a dryer?”

“it’s my aesthetic,” jisung said. “it’s called ‘indie sleaze meets chronic fatigue’.”

jeno, now sulking by the eggs, muttered, “he was just being mean to me for no reason.”

“there’s always a reason, jeno,” jisung said, finishing the last of his coffee. “the reason is usually you.”

he left to the sound of jeno’s indignant sputtering and mark’s world-weary sigh from the bedroom. a normal morning.

—

history of the ming dynasty was held in a vast, dusty lecture hall that seemed to suck the will to live directly from jisung’s soul. he slumped into his usual seat in the back, pulling out his notebook and a single pen. he was an engineering major. this class was a box-ticking exercise, a monument to bureaucratic academic requirements. he planned to spend the next fifty minutes zoning out and maybe sketching a terrible design for a self-stirring coffee mug.

the door to the lecture hall banged open.

“—and i’m telling you, it’s not that deep!” a voice declared, loud enough to be heard in the parking lot. “he literally just wanted your number because you were holding up the line at the campus cafe, not because he’s part of a secret society planning your assassination!”

jisung flinched, not looking up. he knew that voice. everyone knew that voice. it belonged to a human hurricane named zhong chenle. he was a business major, famously, infamously, social. he seemed to know everyone, from the janitorial staff to the dean’s personal assistant, and he treated all of them to a constant stream of commentary, complaints, and unsolicited opinions.

to jisung’s absolute horror, the hurricane’s path veered towards the back of the room. the sound of a backpack being dumped onto the floor next to him was like a gunshot in the quiet hall.

“mind if i sit here?” chenle asked, already sliding into the seat. he didn’t wait for an answer. “my usual spot is next to this guy who wears so much cologne i think he’s trying to fumigate the place. my allergies can’t take it. you don’t smell like anything. it’s great.”

jisung finally risked a glance. chenle was already looking at him, a lopsided, teasing grin on his face. he was… bright. not just his personality, but his whole being. his hair was a shock of light brown, his clothes were expensive-looking and slightly flashy, and his eyes were crinkled in amusement. jisung quickly looked back down at his blank notebook, his ears feeling warm.

“i use unscented soap,” jisung muttered, because it was the only thing his brain could supply.

“a man of taste and subtlety,” chenle said, leaning back in his chair. he proceeded to unpack an entire stationery set that looked both incredibly expensive and completely unused. “so, the ming dynasty. you a history buff or just a masochist?”

“engineering,” jisung said, his voice tight. he willed the professor to start talking.

“oof. that explains the vibe.”

“what vibe?”

“the ‘i’d rather be calculating the tensile strength of a bridge’ vibe. it’s a strong one. don’t worry, i’ll keep you entertained.”

and he did. for the next twenty minutes, as the professor droned on about porcelain and trade routes, chenle provided a running commentary directly into jisung’s personal space. he complained about the professor’s monotone voice (“he could narrate a car chase and make it sound like a grocery list”), he cracked sarcastic jokes about the powerpoint slides (“so the vase is blue. revolutionary. my world is shaken”), and he nagged jisung about his note-taking (“you’ve written three words. are you taking notes or writing a haiku?”).

jisung, who cherished silence the way others cherish gold, felt his eye begin to twitch. he couldn’t focus. he couldn’t retreat into his own mind. this human sunbeam was melting all his carefully constructed walls with the sheer, relentless force of his presence.

just as jisung was contemplating the social acceptability of simply getting up and moving, the professor cleared his throat.

“for your mid-term project,” the professor announced, “you will be analyzing the socio-economic impact of the maritime expeditions of zheng he. in pairs.”

a collective groan went through the class.

“you will pair up with the person sitting next to you.”

jisung’s blood ran cold. he slowly, very slowly, turned his head to look at the person sitting next to him.

chenle was already looking back, that infuriating, brilliant grin back on his face. he winked.

“lucky you,” chenle said, his voice a low, teasing murmur that, for some inexplicable reason, made a shiver run down jisung’s spine. “looks like you’re stuck with me, unscented soap guy.”

jisung’s mind went completely, utterly blank. all he could think was that pyong was going to be so annoyed he was late for their gaming session tonight. he had to message him. he had to get out of here. he had to figure out how to survive being paired with the loudest, most overwhelming person on the planet, who, he was now realizing with a sudden, jarring clarity, had really, ridiculously pretty eyes.

this was, without a doubt, a catastrophic loss. worse than any league game. this was a total nexus explosion.

—————————

the glow of the monitor lit up chenle’s face, a wide grin plastered across it as his fingers flew across the keyboard. on screen, his champion danced a taunting jig over the corpse of an enemy player.

pyong: see that? artistry. you’re witnessing a genius at work.

in their private chat, ‘superexpert’ was uncharacteristically quiet. his champion, a hulking tank, stood perfectly still near a turret.

pyong: hello? earth to superexpert. did you fall asleep? are you having a stroke? blink twice if you need help.

superexpert: i was contemplating the strategic value of this lane position. it’s very… defensible.
superexpert: also you couldn't possibly see if i blinked

chenle cackled, the sound loud in the quiet of his dorm room. he typed back, his movements sharp and gleeful.

pyong: it’s defensible because you’re a mile away from the fight. you’re not a tank, you’re a spectator. a very expensive, very useless spectator.

superexpert: my presence applies psychological pressure.

pyong: the only psychological pressure is the one i’m feeling from having to 1v9 this game. get over here before i start inting out of spite.

a moment later, superexpert’s champion began a slow, reluctant trek from the top lane. he moved with the cautious gait of someone who suspected every bush of harboring a war crime. chenle watched, equal parts exasperated and fond. this was their dynamic. he was the unhinged, high-risk playmaker, and superexpert was the… well, he wasn’t sure what superexpert was. a cautionary tale, maybe.

the inevitable team fight erupted. chenle dove in, a whirlwind of spells and flashing lights. superexpert, arriving fashionably late, attempted to land a crucial crowd-control ability. he missed. spectacularly. his character lunged forward and slammed his weapon into empty air, a good three feet from the intended target.

chenle’s character died a swift and brutal death.

pyong: ………

pyong: you know, for a guy called ‘superexpert’, your understanding of basic geometry is deeply concerning.

superexpert: the hitbox in this game is broken. it’s a known issue. i was clearly inside the radius.

pyong: the radius of delusion, maybe. you weren’t even in the same postcode.

from the bed across the room, a low, venomous groan emanated. “zhong chenle.” the voice was flat, laced with a threat that promised slow and painful retribution. “if you do not shut your mouth and turn off that infernal clicking, i am going to dissolve your expensive gaming keyboard in acid.”

chenle swiveled in his chair to face his roommate, renjun, who was buried under a mountain of blankets with only his displeased eyes visible. they were sharp, intelligent eyes, currently narrowed into slits.

“renjun! you’re awake! you just missed my incredible outplay,” chenle said, beaming.

“i didn’t miss your screaming. it’s two in the morning. some of us have 8 a.m. labs and a desire to not look like a reanimated corpse.” renjun sat up, his hair a chaotic mess. he had the presence of a very tired, very done asian mother who had just discovered her child had used her best silk scarf to clean a bike chain. “who are you even yelling at? some poor, unfortunate soul you’ve trapped in your digital web?”

“it’s my duo partner, he’s so bad, it’s kind of amazing. he just tried to argue that missing a point-blank skill shot was the game’s fault.”

renjun pinched the bridge of his nose. “i don’t care if he’s the second coming of christ and he’s performing miracles in your video game. lower your voice or i will make you regret the day you were born.”

“you love me,” chenle sing-songed, but he typed back to superexpert.

pyong: gotta go. the sleep police is issuing a final warning. same time tomorrow? try to watch a tutorial on skill shots before then. for my blood pressure.

superexpert: my skills are fine. your attitude needs work.

pyong: <3

chenle logged off, a lingering smile on his face. his online friend was a mystery. terrible at the game, fiercely defensive about it, and possessed of a dry, snarky humor that chenle lived for. it was the highlight of his day, this easy, anonymous camaraderie. he sighed contentedly and stretched, ignoring the death glare he could feel burning into the back of his head.

—

the next afternoon, chenle managed to sweet-talk or, more accurately, annoy the course administrator into giving him park jisung’s number. the guy from history class. the unscented soap guy.

he’d seemed… interesting. in a tightly-wound, probably-judging-you kind of way. he was tall, lanky in a way that made his hoodies look especially cozy, and had a face that was all sharp angles and soft, confused-looking eyes. it was a good combination. a very hot combination, if chenle was being honest with himself, which he usually was.

he flopped onto his bed and fired off a text.

unknown: hey it’s zhong chenle. from history. the guy you’re tragically bound to for the foreseeable future.

the reply came after a few minutes.

jisung: i remember. tragically.

chenle’s grin widened.

chenle: we should meet up and get this over with. library? tomorrow after class?

jisung: fine.

chenle: don’t sound so excited. you’ll hurt my feelings.

jisung: …sorry.

chenle: i’m kidding. see you then. try to contain your joy.

—

the library was its usual tomb-like self, and chenle found jisung already seated at a table in a secluded corner, looking profoundly uncomfortable. he had a brand-new notebook, three different colored pens arranged in a neat line, and a laptop that was open to a blank document. he looked like he was about to perform surgery.

“you know, for a project we’re definitely going to bullshit the night before it’s due, this is a very professional setup,” chenle said, dropping his bag onto the table with a thud that made jisung flinch.

jisung just shrugged, his eyes fixed on his screen. “we should start by outlining the key expeditions and then analyze the primary sources regarding their economic impact.”

“or,” chenle leaned forward, lowering his voice to a whisper, “we find some obscure website, copy-paste the whole thing, run it through a paraphrasing tool, and call it a day. i know a guy who knows a guy who runs a paper mill. we could have this done in twenty minutes.”

jisung’s head snapped up. for the first time, he looked chenle directly in the eyes. they were wide, almost horrified. “we can’t do that.”

“why not? it’s a gen-ed class. the professor is half-asleep. no one cares about zheng he’s boat schedules.”

“i care,” jisung said, his voice firm, though a faint pink blush was creeping up his neck. “it’s… it’s dishonest. and we’ll get caught. the plagiarism software will flag it.”

chenle studied him. he was serious. the big, awkward engineering student with the dorky pen collection had a moral backbone when it came to academic integrity. it was unexpectedly… cute.

“okay, okay, relax, ethics committee,” chenle said, holding up his hands in surrender. “we’ll do it your way. the long, painful, honest way.” he sighed dramatically, pulling out his own laptop, a sleek, expensive model covered in stickers. “so. zheng he. big boats. lots of travel. impressed a bunch of people. what’s to analyze?”

jisung, looking slightly mollified, slid a printed article across the table. “this journal breaks down the specific trade goods. it’s actually kind of fascinating. the introduction of new ceramics alone…”

and so they began. or rather, jisung began, speaking in a low, hesitant mumble, pointing at paragraphs and making small, intelligent notes. chenle, who had fully intended to spend the session messing around on his phone, found himself… listening. jisung’s voice was soft and a little deep. he knew what he was talking about, too, his engineering brain latching onto the logistical challenges of the voyages with genuine interest.

chenle, in turn, filled every silence. when jisung trailed off, chenle was there with a sarcastic comment about the emperor’s fashion choices or a complaint about the library’s oppressive lighting. he asked ridiculous questions just to see jisung get flustered and try to formulate a polite answer.

“so, do you think zheng he ever got seasick?” chenle asked, propping his chin in his hands.

jisung blinked. “i don’t know. it’s not in the historical record.”

“seems like a pretty big oversight. ‘the great admiral, master of the seas, puked over the railing every morning’. gives him a relatable human quality, you know?”

a tiny, almost imperceptible smile touched jisung’s lips. it was there and gone in a second, but chenle saw it. a victory.

after an hour, they had a rough outline. jisung looked drained but satisfied. chenle felt strangely energized.

“we should do this again tuesday,” jisung said, carefully packing his pens away.

“sure,” chenle said, snapping his laptop shut. “try to think of some more fun facts about ancient pottery. you really brought it to life today.”

jisung’s ears went red. he mumbled something that sounded like “shut up” but lacked any real heat, before shouldering his bag and making a swift escape.

chenle watched him go, the lanky figure almost tripping over a stray chair leg in his haste. he was so awkward it was physically painful to watch sometimes. but also… kind of endearing.

—

“so? how was your forced labor session with the human icicle?” renjun asked, stirring his matcha latte with an air of supreme judgment. they were at their usual campus cafe, the one with the uncomfortable chairs that renjun insisted had ‘good vibes’.

“he’s not an icicle,” chenle said, stealing a sip of renjun’s drink and making a face. “this tastes like grass.”

“it’s an acquired taste, unlike your apparent taste for emotionally stunted engineering majors. and don’t change the subject.”

chenle leaned back, a contemplative look on his face. “he’s… snarky. but like, polite about it. it’s weird. he has strong opinions about academic fraud. and he has this whole… thing. with his pens.”

renjun stared at him. “you’re describing a neurodivergent librarian. and you’re doing it with a weird look on your face.”

“what look?”

“the look you get when you see a really expensive pair of limited-edition sneakers. a sort of predatory glee mixed with genuine desire.”

chenle laughed, loud and unselfconscious, earning a shush from a girl studying at the next table. he ignored her. “he’s hot, renjun! you didn’t see him. he’s all tall and… flaily. and he has this really intense focus. it’s attractive.”

“he sounds like a baby deer that’s been tasered. and since when do you go for the ‘flaily’ type? i thought you liked people who were, and i quote, ‘confident and knew how to have a good time’.”

“he’s confident in a… quiet way. and he makes me laugh. not on purpose, which is the best part.” chenle poked renjun’s arm. “you’re just jealous because your lab partner has a personal vendetta against you.”

“huang renjun does not get jealous. he observes and he judges.” renjun took a long sip of his latte. “just be careful. you have the subtlety of a fireworks display. don’t scare the poor thing into having a heart attack.”

“me? i’m the soul of discretion,” chenle said, batting his eyelashes.

renjun gave him a look that could curdle milk. “the last time you were discreet, you announced to the entire business strategy class that you found the professor’s assistant ‘unreasonably fit’ while the professor was standing right behind you.”

“he was! and it needed to be said.” chenle finished the last of his own iced coffee, the ice clattering loudly. “don’t worry, mom. i’ll be gentle with him. besides, it’s just a project.”

but as he said it, he thought of jisung’s concentrated frown, the way his ears turned pink when he was flustered, and the single, fleeting smile he’d managed to coax out of him. it was definitely just a project. probably. maybe.

—————————

the following week passed in a blur of library-scented air and the low, constant hum of zhong chenle’s voice. what had started as a sentence had somehow morphed into a… routine. a loud, chaotic, and strangely compelling routine.

they met in the same secluded corner. jisung arrived first, as usual, setting up his surgical station of stationery. chenle arrived five minutes late, smelling faintly of expensive cologne and clutching two iced americanos.

“here,” he’d said, plunking one down in front of jisung. “you look like you run on caffeine and existential dread.”

jisung had stared at the cup. “i… didn’t ask for this.”

“it’s called being a decent human being, park. try it sometime.” chenle had already dropped into his seat, booting up his laptop. “now, where were we? right, the devastating economic impact of fancy plates.”

jisung took a tentative sip. it was perfect. just the right amount of bitterness. he didn’t know how to process the gesture, so he buried his confusion in a rant about porcelain trade deficits. chenle, instead of mocking him, had listened, chin propped on his hand, a faint, unreadable smile on his face.

the library had become a weekly battleground, and chenle was public enemy number one. their tuesday session was punctuated by the sound of a furious "shush!" from a librarian who looked like she'd been preserved in dust and disappointment since the ming dynasty herself.

"it's a public space!" chenle stage-whispered back, after being shushed for explaining, at full volume, why he thought zheng he's greatest legacy was "making giraffes look cool." "we're allowed to have lively intellectual discourse!"

"this isn't discourse, it's a public disturbance," jisung muttered, sinking lower in his chair, but he was hiding a smile behind his laptop screen.

on wednesday, chenle brought snacks. a bag of ridiculously overpriced gummy bears that he proceeded to sort by color before eating them.

“the green ones are superior,” he declared, popping one into his mouth.

“that’s factually incorrect,” jisung found himself saying, without looking up from his notes. “the red ones have a more complex flavor profile.”

chenle had gasped, a hand flying to his chest in mock outrage. “you take that back. this is slander. i won’t stand for this libel against the green gummy bear community.”

“it’s not libel if it’s true,” jisung muttered, a traitorous smile tugging at his lips. he felt… light. it was disturbing.

by thursday, their dynamic had solidified. jisung was the researcher, the architect of their project’s spine. chenle was the… well, he was the commentator, the stress-reliever, and, jisung had to admit, a surprisingly good ideas man when he stopped complaining. he had a way of cutting through academic jargon to the heart of an issue with a sarcastic but insightful question.

“so, the big takeaway is that china showed off a bunch of cool stuff, made everyone feel poor, and then just… stopped?” chenle summarized, spinning idly in his chair.

“that’s a reductive way of putting it,” jisung said, but he was nodding. “but… essentially, yes. the political will and funding dried up.”

“see? i’m a genius. we should put that in the conclusion. ‘in the words of zhong chenle, they just kinda stopped’.”

jisung had actually laughed. a short, surprised burst of sound that made chenle stop spinning and look at him with a wide, triumphant grin.

“there it is!” chenle had pointed at him. “i knew you had a laugh in there somewhere. it’s not a bad sound.”

jisung’s face had flamed, and he’d quickly looked back at his screen, his heart doing a weird, fluttery thing in his chest. he was in trouble. deep, deep trouble. he was starting to find chenle’s loudness… endearing. he was starting to look forward to the way chenle’s laugh, a loud, unselfconscious honk that should have been annoying, echoed in the quiet library. he was memorizing the specific way chenle’s nose scrunched up when he was thinking.

“so, what’s your deal? you live in the dorms? you have any hobbies besides being academically superior to everyone?”

jisung’s first instinct was to deflect, to give a one-word answer. but his brain, traitorously, supplied a cascade of information. yes, i live in mark’s shadow. my main hobby is playing a video game i’m terrible at with a stranger i might have a pathetic crush on. you’re currently louder than both of them combined.

“i play games,” he said instead, the admission feeling strangely intimate.

chenle’s eyebrows shot up. “no way. what kind? please don’t say sudoku.”

“league of legends,” jisung mumbled, bracing for the judgment.

to his surprise, chenle just nodded, looking impressed. “a man of culture. i play too. i’m kinda cracked, not gonna lie.”

jisung almost smiled. if only he knew. “i’m… not.”

“we should play sometime,” chenle said, so casually it felt like a physical blow. “i’ll carry you. my ign is—”

“we should focus,” jisung interrupted, a sudden, irrational panic seizing him. the idea of chenle seeing his ‘superexpert’ username, witnessing his humiliating gameplay, was a level of vulnerability he was not prepared for. it was one thing to be a noob in front of pyong, another thing entirely to be one in front of chenle’s blinding, real-life presence.

chenle looked momentarily surprised by the sharpness, then shrugged, easy as ever. “okay, okay. back to the dirt farmers.”

by the end of the session, jisung’s outline was half-finished, and he had a comprehensive understanding of chenle’s opinions on cafeteria food, his roommate’s skincare routine, and the specific way the guy down the hall sneezed. jisung had spoken maybe ten full sentences. and yet, he felt strangely drained, like he’d been running a social marathon.

—

"and then he said, 'it's word-vomit!' and slammed the book so hard i think we created a new fault line," jisung recounted, pushing his food around his plate in the cafeteria.

across from him, mark chewed his rice with the slow, deliberate movements of a man contemplating his own mortality. jeno was staring into the middle distance, looking heartbroken over something. jaemin was meticulously dissecting an orange.

“fascinating,” mark said, his tone implying the exact opposite. “so the loud guy continues to be… loud. and you continue to be… surprised by this.”

“he said the library was a ‘building of quiet oppression’,” jisung repeated. “and that he was there to ‘liberate the books with the power of conversation’.”

jeno paused mid eating. “he sounds… dramatic.”

“he’s insane,” jisung corrected, though the word lacked its usual venom. “he brought a whole rotisserie chicken to the study table. who does that?”

jaemin appeared next to the cafeteria doorway“a visionary. i’m hungry just thinking about it. did he share?”

“that’s not the point!”

“the point is,” mark intoned, “you’ve said the name ‘chenle’ forty-seven times in the last ten minutes. i’m keeping count. it’s concerning.”

jisung froze. “i have not.”

“you have,” jeno grunted chewing at the same time “chenle this, chenle that. it’s ‘chenle eats chips like a woodchipper’ and ‘chenle thinks napoleon was quote, a short king with a complex, unquote’. i don’t even know who this guy is, but i feel like i’ve lived a whole week with him. sounds annoying," he said. "why do you put up with him?"

"he's not... all bad," jisung said, the understatement of the century. "he brings snacks."

"ah, the ancient mating call of the extrovert," jaemin said still from the cafeteria doorway, where he was holding a test tube up to the light. it contained a faintly glowing pink liquid. "lure them in with processed carbohydrates and then scream at them until they develop stockholm syndrome."

"it's not a mating call," jisung protested, his ears turning pink.

"it's a proven scientific fact," jaemin continued, swirling the liquid. "my lab partner, the tiny, terrifying one with the judgmental eyebrows, tried to correct my bacterial culture technique again today. so i may or may not have slightly altered the pH of his buffer solution. just enough to make his results... whimsical."

jeno looked at him, a fond, slightly worried look on his face. "jaem, you're going to get expelled."

"it's called scientific inquiry, jeno. i'm inquiring into the limits of his sanity." jaemin's smile was a sharp, beautiful thing. "he called my methodology 'unconventional'. me! can you believe the audacity?"

"the nerve," jeno agreed instantly, his concern vanishing. "you want me to 'have a talk' with him?" he flexed an arm, which was, admittedly, impressive.

jaemin patted his cheek as he walked past and finally sat down. "and ruin my fun? never, my dumb, loyal jeno. i prefer to poison my own enemies, thank you."

jeno watched him go, a lovesick puppy expression on his face.
mark turned to jisung. "see? that's a normal, healthy fixation on someone. what you have is... weird. you're getting soft."

"i am not soft," jisung grumbled, but he was already thinking about friday's session.

mark sighed, the sound of a thousand dying stars. “i’m surrounded by simps and sociopaths. jisung, i’m happy you’ve made a friend. can we please talk about something else? like the crushing inevitability of the post-graduate job market?”

but jisung couldn’t. his brain was a feedback loop of chenle-isms. it was pathetic.

—

the other problem was that ‘pyong’ had been radio silent for days.

after his fourth project session with chenle, jisung had slumped into his desk chair, exhausted but weirdly keyed up. he’d logged into league, hoping for the familiar, easy comfort of his online friend’s teasing. the chat was empty. no goodnight message, no complaint about his daily life, no pre-game trash talk.

he sent a tentative message.

superexpert: you alive? or did you finally get banned for toxic positivity?

no response. an hour later, he tried again.

superexpert: seriously. you’ve never been quiet this long. did you get a life? rude.

still nothing. a dull sense of disappointment settled in his stomach. his two social outlets, one anonymous and easy, one loud and overwhelming and increasingly attractive in person, had somehow merged into a single, chenle-shaped presence that occupied his days and left his evenings feeling strangely empty. he couldn’t even complain to pyong about how much chenle was taking over his brain, because pyong was the one person who would definitely find that hilarious.

—

the library bathed in the orange glow of a setting sun. chenle was restless, tapping his feet, clicking his pen, humming a tuneless song.

“stop,” jisung finally said, his patience fraying. “you’re like a… a mosquito.”

“a very charismatic mosquito,” chenle corrected, but he stilled. for about thirty seconds. then he slumped dramatically across the table, his head landing right on jisung’s open textbook. “i’m boooooored. my brain is melting. feed me a fact. a weird one.”

jisung looked down at the crown of chenle’s head, his blond hair splayed across a paragraph about mercantilism. he smelled like citrus and fabric softener. jisung’s throat felt tight. “get off my book.”

“weird fact. now.”

jisung sighed, casting his mind for anything. “during the reign of louis XIV, high heels became a symbol of status for men because… because he was short and wanted to look taller.”

chenle lifted his head, his eyes sparkling. “see? that’s the good stuff. men in heels. power move.” he sat up, a new energy in his posture. “okay, i can work with this. our presentation will now include a segment on the socio-political implications of the male heel.”

“it will not.”

“you lack ambition, park jisung.”

“i lack a death wish,” jisung retorted, but he was fighting a smile again. it was becoming a problem.

later, walking back to his dorm in the cool night air, jisung replayed the moment. chenle’s hair on his book. the dumb heel fact. the way chenle’s eyes lit up when he found a thread of absurdity to pull. it was all so stupid. so pointless.

so why did he feel so… buzzy?

he mentioned it offhand to jaemin the next day, while jeno was in the bathroom. “he just… he doesn’t take anything seriously. it’s annoying.”

jaemin, who was meticulously applying lip balm using his phone’s camera as a mirror, didn’t even blink. “sounds like you take things seriously enough for both of you. maybe you need that.” he snapped the cap back on. “jeno’s been sighing for ten minutes straight. do you think he’s constipated or in love with me?”

the whiplash was jarring. “what? how should i know?”

“he does this every time i mention my lab partner. it’s a whole thing. renjun called me a ‘waste of a perfectly good lab coat’ today and jeno looked like he was going to challenge him to a duel. it’s very flattering, honestly.” jaemin’s smile was a little too sharp, a little too knowing. he was anything but oblivious.

jeno returned then, his shoulders slumped. “you guys talking about the project?”

“sure,” jaemin said smoothly, winking at jisung. “the project.”

by the end of the first week, chenle had become a permanent fixture in jisung’s internal monologue. he was a splotch of bright yellow paint on jisung’s beige existence. and jisung’s friends were sick of it.
_

it was friday, their fifth meeting, and they’d finally, miraculously, finished the bulk of the project. all that was left was the presentation slide deck, a task chenle had enthusiastically claimed as his own. jisung was skeptical, but he was too tired to fight. they were in a quieter, more secluded corner of the library, surrounded by towering shelves of old periodicals that smelled like dust and forgotten ideas.

chenle had commandeered jisung’s laptop, his fingers flying across the keyboard with a shocking degree of competence. “okay, so i’m thinking… minimal text. big, dramatic images. we’re not just informing them, we’re giving them an experience.”

“an experience of what? vertigo?” jisung asked, peering at the screen. chenle was using a transition effect that made it look like the screen was melting.

“of passion. of history!” chenle clicked a few more times, adding a picture of a baroque painting of a king next to a stock photo of a high heel. “see? art.”

jisung sighed, resting his chin in his hand. he was close enough to watch chenle work, to see the way his brow furrowed in concentration, his tongue peeking out between his teeth. he was so focused, so different from the chaotic noise-machine he usually was. it was… disarming.

“you’re staring again,” chenle said, not taking his eyes off the screen.

this time, jisung didn’t deny it. he just felt the warmth spread across his cheeks and accepted his fate.

after another hour, chenle leaned back with a triumphant flourish. “done. it’s a masterpiece. we’re going to get an A and a standing ovation.”

“i’ll settle for a passing grade,” jisung said, but he was relieved. it was over. the project, the constant, grating, exhilarating proximity. he should have been thrilled. he mostly felt a weird, hollow sense of loss.

they packed up in a silence that was, for once, comfortable. the sun had long since set, and the library was nearly empty, just the soft hum of the ventilation system and the distant sound of a janitor’s cart. they walked out together into the crisp night, the automatic doors swooshing shut behind them, sealing away the world of history and highlighting.

“well,” chenle said, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. “see you in class on monday, i guess. try not to miss me too much.”

“i’ll do my best,” jisung said, his voice softer than he intended.

they stood there for a moment under the buzzing yellow light of a lamppost, the silence stretching. it was the end of their mandated time together. there was no reason to linger. jisung’s heart was doing a weird, fluttery thing in his chest. he blamed exhaustion.

chenle grinned, that wide, sun-bright grin, and took a step backward, toward his own dorm. “goodnight, jisung. don’t dream about mercantilism.”

jisung huffed a quiet laugh. “you either.”

chenle turned to go, took two steps, and then stopped. he spun back around, his expression shifting into one of mock-seriousness. “oh, wait. i almost forgot. the most important part.”

jisung froze, his brain immediately supplying a dozen disastrous possibilities. had he forgotten a whole section? did chenle want to re-do the entire thing in interpretive dance after all?

chenle walked back until he was standing right in front of jisung, close enough that jisung could see the faint freckles dusted across his nose in the lamplight. his heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic, stupid rhythm.

then, chenle did it.

he reached out, not towards jisung’s face or his hand, but towards the strap of jisung’s backpack. with a deliberate, almost gentle tug, he pulled a single, crumpled, bright blue post-it note from where it had been stuck to the fabric. he’d probably put it there himself hours ago without jisung noticing.

he held it up between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“you had a little… something,” chenle said, his voice low and teasing. he smoothed the post-it note out, revealing a poorly drawn cartoon of a steam engine with a frowny face. underneath, in chenle’s messy scrawl, it read: ‘u r the brains.’

he tucked the note into the front pocket of jisung’s hoodie, patting it twice. his fingers brushed against jisung’s chest, a fleeting, electric point of contact through the soft fabric.

it was so stupid. so small. a dumb drawing on a sticky note.

but as chenle winked, shoved his hands in his pockets, and finally walked away for good, whistling into the night, jisung stood frozen under the lamplight. his skin was buzzing, his face was on fire, and his heartbeat was a frantic, runaway drum in his ears, loud enough to drown out every other thought in his head.

it was really, really stupid. and he just couldn’t control it.

—————————

chenle’s monday began with the profound, bone-deep conviction that the universe was personally testing him. his alarm was a war crime. the sunlight slicing through his blinds was an act of aggression. even the air in his dorm room felt heavy and judgmental.

from the nest of blankets on the other side of the room, a voice, dry as dust, stated, “if you groan one more time, i’m going to dissolve your vocal cords in my leftover matcha.”

“it’s too early for your threats, renjun,” chenle mumbled, burying his face deeper into his pillow. “have some compassion.”

“compassion is for people who don’t snore like a chainsaw all night,” renjun retorted, already sitting up and looking infuriatingly put-together. his hair was perfect. his pajamas were crisp. chenle hated him a little. “you were the one up until some ungodly hour yelling at your computer screen.”

“i wasn't even playing, i was doing important business work,” chenle said, the words muffled by feathers. “it’s called networking.”

“it’s called being a public nuisance. get up. you have that marketing lecture you always complain about.”

the day was a blur of half-remembered lectures and the bitter taste of vending machine coffee. he moved through his classes on autopilot, a sleep-deprived ghost in expensive sneakers. his marketing professor droned on about demographic engagement, and chenle doodled a detailed caricature of him being carried away by a flock of angry birds. his mind, however, was not on market saturation or consumer trends. it was stubbornly, persistently, stuck in the back corner of a dusty library.

it was ridiculous. park jisung was an enigma wrapped in a hoodie and steeped in a deeply unsettling quiet. he was all sharp elbows and sharper tongue, a boy who communicated primarily in grunts, sighs, and the occasional devastatingly dry remark. he was, by all objective measures, chenle’s polar opposite. a black hole to chenle’s supernova. and yet.

and yet, chenle found himself counting down the minutes to history class with an anticipation that felt… new. he’d lie if he said he wasn’t looking forward to it. the thought of jisung, already seated with his pens arranged in militant order, a slight frown of concentration on his face… it did something funny to chenle’s stomach. it was the contradiction of it all. the way jisung’s serious, almost grumpy exterior could be cracked by the dumbest joke, revealing a fleeting, brilliant smile that made chenle feel like he’d just won a major prize. he was so cute and so hot at the same time it was, frankly, offensive.

when he finally slid into the lecture hall, his eyes immediately found their target. jisung was in his usual spot, a study in muted colors and tension. he had a single, pristine notebook open and was staring at the empty podium as if it had personally insulted his family.

“make room for the fun half of this project,” chenle announced, dropping his bag and collapsing into the seat next to him.

jisung flinched, a full-body shudder that was immensely satisfying. he didn’t look at chenle. “you’re five minutes late. the fun half is unreliable.”

“the fun half was prioritizing his beauty sleep. something you might want to consider,” chenle shot back, leaning over to peek at jisung’s notes. he’d written the date. that was it. “wow. prolific. the ming dynasty trembles before your thoroughness.”

“i was waiting for the lecture to actually start,” jisung muttered, his ears doing that thing where they turned a delicate shade of pink. chenle wanted to poke one.

the professor began his monotone drone, and chenle settled in for his favorite new pastime: gently tormenting park jisung. he provided a running, whispered commentary on everything, from the professor’s tragically outdated tie to the particularly dramatic sigh from a student in the front row. jisung remained a statue of stoic resistance, but chenle saw the way the corner of his mouth twitched when chenle whispered that the trade route map looked like a plate of spaghetti someone had thrown at the wall.

when the professor announced the project submission deadline was that friday, a jolt of something that felt suspiciously like disappointment went through chenle. the project was their excuse. their mandated proximity. what happened after?

“so,” chenle said as the class began to pack up. “final touches on the presentation? library after your last class? we can submit it and be free.”

jisung nodded, carefully capping his pen. “fine. don’t bring any whole rotisserie chickens this time.”

“no promises,” chenle grinned. “a man needs sustenance.”

—

the final session was… different. the frantic energy of creation was gone, replaced by the mundane task of proofreading and uploading files. chenle, for once, was quiet, clicking through their slides one last time. jisung was watching over his shoulder, his presence a warm, steady weight beside him.

“it’s actually… good,” jisung said, sounding surprised.

“of course it’s good. i’m a visual storyteller. you’re the fact-checker. we’re a dream team.” chenle clicked the ‘submit’ button with a flourish. “and… done. we are officially free from the tyrannical rule of zheng he.”

a strange silence descended upon them. it was over. the scaffolding of their forced interaction was gone. chenle felt a weird pang of panic. he wasn’t ready for this to be the end of… whatever this was.

he swung his backpack onto his shoulder, the movement more abrupt than he intended. “so. i’m gonna go get coffee. to celebrate our emancipation. you wanna come?” he said it casually, a throwaway line. he fully expected jisung to mumble an excuse about an engineering lab or needing to go defragment his hard drive or something equally jisung-like.

jisung was staring at his own shoes, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets. he shifted his weight. the silence stretched for three full, agonizing heartbeats.

“okay,” jisung said, so quietly chenle almost missed it.

chenle blinked. “...what?”

jisung finally looked up, his gaze skittering away from chenle’s almost immediately. “i said okay. coffee. is that… is that still an offer?”

a slow, unstoppable grin spread across chenle’s face. “yeah. yeah, it’s an offer. come on, unscented soap guy. my treat. you look like you run on battery saver mode.”

—

the campus coffee shop was loud and bustling, a stark contrast to the library’s tomb-like quiet. they found a small table in the corner, surrounded by the shriek of milk steamers and the chatter of a hundred other students. jisung looked profoundly out of place, like a librarian who’d been accidentally transported to a nightclub.

chenle slid a massive iced americano across to him. “for the chronic fatigue.”

“it’s not chronic fatigue, it’s a carefully managed energy conservation system,” jisung retorted, but he took the coffee. his fingers brushed against chenle’s for a millisecond, and chenle felt it like a static shock.

for the first twenty minutes, they talked about nothing. the weather. the unbearable cost of textbooks. the mysterious, perpetually damp smell of the engineering building. it was safe, neutral territory. but then chenle, unable to help himself, poked again.

“so. games. you said you play league. what else? what’s the inner world of park jisung really like? do you build model rockets? do you have a secret stamp collection?”

jisung took a long sip of his coffee, then sighed, as if surrendering a state secret. “i like music. old british rock.”

chenle leaned forward, intrigued. “oh? like what? the beatles? rolling stones?”

“more like… oasis. coldplay. the earlier stuff.”

it was so perfectly, quintessentially jisung. the musical equivalent of a grey hoodie. chenle couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of him. “of course you do. of course you like a band famous for two brothers who hated each other and an entire discography about being vaguely sad in a triumphant way. it’s so you.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?” jisung asked, but there was no bite to it. he was almost smiling.

“it means you’re a total nerd. a cool nerd. a… coldplay nerd.” chenle shook his head, delighted. “what’s your favorite song? don’t say ‘yellow’. i’ll judge you.”

“‘champagne supernova’,” jisung mumbled, looking intently at a crack in the table.

“oh my god.” chenle clutched his chest. “it’s even better than i thought. you’re a walking, talking cliché of quiet, handsome, and deeply melancholic. i love it.”

the word ‘handsome’ hung in the air between them, unintended but now undeniably present. jisung’s blush deepened, creeping down his neck. he didn’t deny it. he just took another sip of coffee, his eyes wide.

and then he started talking. really talking. he told chenle about how he’d taught himself a few oasis songs on guitar, but only when he was sure his roommate was out. he confessed that he found the mathematical precision of engineering soothing, a way to make sense of a chaotic world. he spoke in his low, soft voice, and chenle found himself listening, truly listening, not just waiting for his turn to speak. he was a total nerd, and chenle liked that. he liked it a lot.

at one point, chenle was gesturing wildly, explaining his theory that the business school was actually a cult, when his hand, holding his iced coffee, swept too close to the edge of the table. the cup teetered, condensation-slick, and began to fall.

it happened in a slow-motion blur. jisung’s hand, which had been resting on the table, shot out. not to catch the falling cup, that was a lost cause, but to intercept chenle’s wrist. his long, cool fingers wrapped firmly around chenle’s skin, stopping his flailing arm before he could knock over both their drinks.

the cup hit the floor with a plastic crack, coffee and ice exploding across the tiles.

chenle barely noticed. all his senses were focused on the point of contact. jisung’s grip was surprisingly strong, his fingers a steady, grounding pressure. it wasn’t a gentle touch. it was efficient, reflexive. and it was the most direct, unmediated contact they’d ever had.

a jolt, warm and electric, shot straight up chenle’s arm. his own witty commentary died in his throat. his heart did a single, hard thump against his ribs. he looked from their connected hands, jisung’s fingers against his own pale wrist, up to jisung’s face.

jisung was already looking back, his eyes wide with a similar shock. he seemed to realize he was still holding chenle’s wrist and let go as if burned, snatching his hand back into the safety of his hoodie.

“you’re… you’re a hazard,” jisung stammered, his voice an octave higher than usual. he was flustered. but so was chenle.

chenle, for the first time in living memory, felt a hot flush creep up his own neck. the sensation of jisung’s grip lingered on his skin, a phantom imprint. he was the one who was supposed to be unflappable, the agent of chaos. he wasn’t supposed to be the one rendered speechless by a simple touch.

“i… yeah,” chenle managed, uncharacteristically breathless. he looked down at the mess on the floor. “i’ll, uh. i’ll get napkins.”

the rest of their goodbye was a rushed, awkward affair. chenle, still reeling, cleaned up the spill under the disapproving gaze of a barista. jisung stood by, looking like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. they parted ways with a mumbled “see you around” that felt both like a promise and a question.

—

chenle walked to the science building in a daze, the ghost of jisung’s fingers still circling his wrist. he was supposed to pick renjun up from his lab; they were going to get real food, not sad cafeteria egg whites.

he found the right lab room and pushed the door open. the sharp, clean smell of ethanol and something vaguely organic hit him. renjun was at a bench, meticulously labeling a set of petri dishes with an expression of intense concentration. and next to him, leaning against another bench and casually spinning a graduated cylinder on his finger like a basketball, was na jaemin.

“so i told him, if the buffer solution looks like a sunset, that’s not my fault, that’s nature’s art,” jaemin was saying, his voice a cheerful melody. “he said i was ‘compromising the integrity of the experiment’. i said he was compromising the integrity of my fun.”

renjun didn’t even look up. “if you contaminate my samples, jaemin, i will use your own pipette to extract your soul.”

jaemin’s grin only widened. he spotted chenle. “ah, a visitor! hello, visitor. are you here to witness the death of my academic career?”

“chenle,” renjun said, finally capping his pen. “you’re late.” he glanced at jaemin, then back at chenle, a world of exhaustion in his eyes. “don’t talk to him. he’s contagious.”

chenle looked from renjun’s pinched, long-suffering face to jaemin’s brilliantly unrepentant one. a feeling of deep, profound respect washed over him. he, zhong chenle, was a professional annoyance. he could get under anyone’s skin with a few well-aimed words. but this… jaemin was on another level. he didn’t even have to try. his mere existence seemed to sand away at renjun’s sanity on a molecular level.

“wow,” chenle said, genuinely impressed. “i just… i have to salute you, man.” he nodded at jaemin. “i’ve been trying for a year and a half to get a rise out of him that isn’t just ‘i’m going to murder you in your sleep’. you manage to do it just by breathing.”

jaemin placed a hand over his heart. “thank you. it’s a gift.”

renjun shouldered his bag. “can we go now? i need to wash the smell of incompetence and expensive cologne out of my nostrils.”

jaemin winked. “see you wednesday, renjun! try to dream of more whimsical data!”

renjun just stalked out of the lab. chenle gave jaemin one last, respectful nod before following his roommate out.

“he doesn’t even do anything specific,” chenle marveled as they walked. “he’s just… himself. and it annoys you more than anything i’ve ever consciously done. i’m in awe.”

“he’s an idiot,” renjun said flatly. “i'm convinced he's a sociopath, a sociopath who is going to make me fail this class. now, are you going to tell me why you look like you just got hit by a bus made of feelings?”

chenle sighed, the memory of the coffee shop rushing back. “it’s a long story. involving a different kind of idiot.”

—

back in the safety of his dorm, the buzz of the day finally began to fade, replaced by a more familiar itch. he hadn’t logged into league in over a week. his duo partner was probably convinced he’d spontaneously combusted.

he booted up his pc, the familiar glow of the monitor a comfort. he opened their private chat. there were a few unread messages from ‘superexpert’.

superexpert: you alive? or did you finally get banned for toxic positivity?
superexpert: seriously. you’ve never been quiet this long. did you get a life? rude.

chenle smiled. it was good to be missed, even in this weird, digital way.

pyong: so the rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated

the reply was almost instantaneous.

superexpert: oh. you’re back.

pyong: miss me?

superexpert: i missed having a reliable punching bag. where’d you go? witness protection?

pyong: something like that. got… distracted. by a person.

superexpert: a person?

pyong: yeah. this one person i know. it’s weird.

superexpert: …weird how?

chenle leaned back in his chair, fingers hovering over the keyboard. how to describe the jisung of it all without giving anything away?

pyong: they’re just. so quiet. but not in a boring way. in a way that makes you want to know what they’re thinking. and they have this… face. a very annoying face.

superexpert: an annoying face.

pyong: yeah. like, distractingly structured. and they say these things under their breath that are actually really funny, but they act like they didn’t mean to be. it’s infuriating.

superexpert: sounds terrible.

pyong: it is! and today they just. did this thing. nothing big. just a thing. and i couldn’t think of a single stupid thing to say for a full ten seconds. me!

superexpert: ………

superexpert: what was the thing?

pyong: can’t say. it’s classified. but it was… efficient. and it completely broke my brain. i’m not used to my brain being broken. i do the breaking.

superexpert: maybe your brain needed a break from all the noise.

pyong: wow. rude. and probably true. but still rude.

pyong: anyway, they’re just… a lot. in a very quiet way. it’s confusing. i don’t do confused.

superexpert: you seem plenty confused to me.

pyong: shush. are we playing or are you going to psychoanalyze me all night? i need to hit some minions to feel normal again.

superexpert: fine. try to hit the enemy champions this time. it’s more effective.

pyong: don’t tell me how to live my life. my way is more artistic.

as the queue popped and they loaded into the game, chenle felt a slight unclenching in his chest. venting, even in vague, anonymous terms, had helped. here, he was pyong, the unhinged carry. superexpert was his terrible, snarky anchor. it was simple. it was easy.

but as he clicked his champion towards the lane, his mind kept drifting back to a coffee-stained floor, a strong, cool grip on his wrist, and a pair of dark, flustered eyes that had, for a moment, looked just as thrown as he felt. his real world had suddenly become a lot more complicated, and a lot more interesting, than any game could ever be.

—————————

the problem with no longer having a shared, mandatory project was that jisung’s life had abruptly reverted to its default setting: a quiet, blue-lit haze. and it was, to his immense annoyance, boring. the silence in his dorm was no longer comfortable; it was empty. the league client felt like a ghost town, and pyong’s messages, while back, couldn’t fill the chenle-shaped void that had been blasted into his routine.

wednesday was his least favorite day. he woke up at 7 a.m. for no reason, his body betraying him by deciding it was well-rested. this was so rare it felt like a glitch in the matrix. he shuffled into the communal kitchen, a zombie in sweatpants, to find his friends already performing their morning rituals.

mark was slumped over the table, a half-empty mug of black coffee clutched in his hand like a lifeline. he looked like he’d been personally victimized by the concept of dawn. “if one of you speaks to me before i’ve finished this,” he mumbled into the wood grain, “i am legally allowed to commit arson.”

mark had a huge project, a dumb group, and caffeine addiction. also he loved to overwork himself. that's why he was mostly seen half dead these days.

across from him, jeno and jaemin were bickering, which for them was just a bizarre form of flirting.

“you can’t just put ketchup on eggs,” jeno said, his brow furrowed with a sincerity usually reserved for peace treaties.

“i can and i will,” jaemin retorted, brandishing the bottle like a weapon. “it’s my divine right as a chaotic neutral. you wouldn’t understand, you lawful good square.”

“i’m not a square! i just have taste!”

“you have the palate of a middle-aged accountant.” jaemin squirted a generous dollop of red onto his plate, his eyes challenging.

jeno looked genuinely wounded, his dog like energy dimming. “that’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“oh, don’t pout,” jaemin said, rolling his eyes and stabbing a ketchup-covered egg with his fork. “here, have a bite. expand your horizons.” he shoved the fork towards jeno’s face.

jeno, predictably, blushed and took the bite, his previous offense forgotten. “it’s… not terrible.”

“see? i’m a genius.”

jisung stared at the scene, his brain too sleep-soft to process it. he poured himself a bowl of cereal and sat down, the sound of his spoon clinking against the ceramic unnaturally loud.

jaemin’s sharp eyes landed on him. “well, look what the cat dragged in. and by cat, i mean crippling academic anxiety. you’re up early. couldn’t sleep because you were dreaming about your history project?”

jisung grunted. “it’s over.”

“i know,” jaemin said, a sly smile playing on his lips. “i met your partner, by the way. chenle.”

the name hit jisung with the force of a physical blow, jolting the last of the sleep from his system. he froze, a spoonful of cereal halfway to his mouth. “you… what? when?”

“yesterday. when he came to pick up renjun from the lab.” jaemin’s smile widened. “i like him. he said he has ‘deep respect’ for me because even he can’t annoy renjun as much as i can. high praise.”

jisung’s mind was reeling. chenle and jaemin. two forces of nature in one room. the universe was testing him. all he could think, with a pathetic, desperate clarity, was that he wanted to see chenle again. today. right now. which was impossible, because they didn't have history class.

“he’s loud,” jisung managed, because it was the safest, most obvious thing to say.

“and you’re not,” mark intoned from his coffee mug, not lifting his head. “it’s called balance. yin and yang. now please, for the love of all that is holy, stop talking.”

jaemin, ignoring mark completely, leaned forward. “which is why you’re coming to the lab with me and jeno after your classes today.”

jisung blinked. “what? no.”

“yes. you haven’t hung out with us in weeks. you’re becoming a hermit crab. a very tall, grumpy hermit crab. it’s concerning.”

“i’m not a hermit. i’m… selectively social.”

“you’re selectively comatose,” jaemin corrected. “you’re coming. it’s not a debate. you look too tired to argue with me, and i will win.”

he was right. the mere thought of mustering the energy to fight jaemin’s particular brand of manipulative cheer felt like it would drain his life force completely. he slumped in his chair. “fine.”

“excellent!” jaemin clapped his hands. “see you there at four. don’t be late. renjun might actually explode if we’re all in his space for too long.”

—

the rest of the day passed in a blur. jisung went to his classes, took his notes, and thought about a boy. it was pathetic. he felt like a teenage girl. when four o’clock rolled around, he trudged towards the science building with the enthusiasm of a man walking to his own execution.

he pushed the lab door open, the smell of bleach and ethanol hitting him first. jaemin was there, of course, leaning against a counter and peering into a microscope with an expression of deep fascination. jeno was sitting on a stool nearby, looking fond and confused.

but the person he didn’t expect to see was chenle.

chenle, in a blindingly bright yellow hoodie and a pair of shorts that defied the chilly weather, was perched on the edge of a different lab table, swinging his legs. he saw jisung first, his face lighting up like a firework.

“jisung!” he called, his voice echoing in the sterile room. he hopped off the table and bounded over. “what are you doing here? did you get lost on your way to the library?”

jaemin looked up from his microscope, a smirk on his face. “i invited him. we’re socializing.”

chenle’s grin widened. he stopped in front of jisung, close enough that jisung could smell the faint, clean scent of his laundry detergent. “socializing? you?” he poked jisung’s arm. “who are you and what have you done with the real park jisung?”

“he’s in witness protection,” jisung mumbled, his eyes tracing the lines of chenle’s smile. he was so… bright. it was literally hard to look at him. “what are you doing here?”

“picking up the queen,” chenle said, jerking a thumb towards the back of the lab, where renjun was meticulously labeling test tubes with an air of intense concentration. “his royal highness does not like to walk home alone. says the common folk stress him out.”

despite himself, jisung felt a smile tug at his lips. “the queen?”

“it’s fitting,” chenle said with a solemn nod. “he’s tiny, powerful, and holds grudges for centuries.”

at that moment, renjun looked up, his sharp eyes scanning the room and landing on their little group with palpable disdain. “why is there a convention in my lab? this is a place of science, not a… a… whatever this is.”

“it’s a party, renjun!” jaemin declared, slinging an arm around jeno’s shoulders. “and i’ve decided we’re taking this party on the road. we’re all going out for food. my treat.”

jeno lit up instantly. “ramen?”

“obviously ramen,” jaemin said, as if any other option was unthinkable.

renjun looked like he’d been offered a plate of live spiders. “absolutely not. i’d rather dissect a frog with a spoon.”

“come on, roomie,” chenle wheedled, bouncing over to him. “it’ll be fun! you can judge everyone’s life choices over a bowl of noodles. it’s your favorite hobby.”

jisung had no thoughts. or maybe one, singular, overwhelming thought: more time with chenle. the idea sent a jolt of something warm and anxious through his system.

chenle and jaemin looked at each other, a spark of mutual, chaotic understanding passing between them. they were a terrifying duo. jeno, of course, would agree to anything jaemin suggested, so his opinion was a foregone conclusion.

under the combined force of chenle’s relentless cheer and jaemin’s unshakeable will, renjun’s resistance crumbled with a long, suffering sigh. “fine.”

—

the ramen place was loud, steamy, and packed, a stark contrast to the sterile quiet of the lab. they squeezed into a booth, jeno and jaemin on one side, renjun sliding in after them with the air of a prisoner being led to the gallows. which left jisung and chenle on the other side.

chenle slid in first, his thigh pressing against jisung’s from knee to hip the moment he sat down. jisung froze, every nerve ending in his body suddenly hyper-aware of the point of contact.

chenle, seemingly oblivious, immediately launched into an animated conversation with jaemin and jeno, becoming fast friends with a speed that was both impressive and slightly terrifying. he was in his element, the center of a social solar system, and jeno and jaemin were happily caught in his orbit.

then he’d lean in, his shoulder bumping against jisung’s, and talk really fast, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“see?” he murmured, his breath ghosting over jisung’s ear. “jaemin’s even crazier than i am. it’s amazing. and jeno just follows him around like a lost puppy. it’s the cutest thing i’ve ever seen.”

jisung could only nod, his throat tight. chenle was so fucking cute when he did literally everything. the way his eyes sparkled when he found something funny, the way he gestured with his chopsticks, the way he threw his head back when he laughed at something jaemin said. jisung didn’t like whatever chenle was doing to his brain. it felt like a system failure.

the oddest thing was how easy it all felt. the conversation flowed, the ramen was hot and delicious, and even renjun slowly began to relax, engaging in a surprisingly civil conversation with jeno about the merits of different study spots on campus.

then the soju came. jaemin ordered a bottle “for morale,” and before jisung could protest, little glasses were being filled.

one glass made jisung feel warm. two glasses, and the edges of the world started to soften. three glasses, and he found himself actually laughing, really laughing, at one of chenle’s stupid stories about trying to assemble ikea furniture with renjun.

“and he’s just standing there,” chenle was saying, his words starting to slur just a little, “with this little mallet, looking at the instructions like they’ve personally insulted his ancestors, and he goes, ‘this is swedish hieroglyphics designed to break the human spirit!’”

the table erupted in laughter. jisung was laughing so hard his stomach hurt, and when he looked up, chenle was already looking at him.

that was the other thing. the staring.

jisung had been stealing glances all night, cataloging the way the dim light caught chenle’s profile, the way his lips curled around his glass. but whenever jisung wasn’t staring, chenle was. and the moment jisung’s eyes would flicker over to catch him, chenle would look away so fast it was comical, a faint, pretty blush dusting his cheeks. it was driving jisung insane.

tipsy chenle was also… tactile. he’d nudge jisung’s knee under the table to emphasize a point. he’d sling an arm around the back of the booth behind jisung’s shoulders, his fingers occasionally brushing against the fabric of jisung’s hoodie. he’d lean in close to whisper something, his warmth seeping into jisung’s side.

each tiny, casual touch was a jolt of lightning. jisung was not okay. he was a live wire, strung tight and humming with a tension he didn’t know how to name.

at one point, chenle was arguing passionately with jaemin about the best pizza topping, and he turned to jisung, his eyes wide and imploring. “back me up here, jisung. pineapple is a valid and delicious choice, right?”

his face was so close. jisung could see the individual flecks of gold in his brown eyes. he smelled like ramen broth and soju and that same, clean laundry scent.

“it’s… fruit,” jisung managed, his voice coming out rough.

“see!” chenle crowed, turning triumphantly back to jaemin. “he gets it!”

he didn’t get it at all. he was lost.

the night finally wound down, the soju bottle empty, their bowls scraped clean. they stumbled out into the cool night air, a loose, laughing group. renjun was actually smiling, a small, quiet thing, as he listened to jeno recount a story about mark trying to cook pasta and setting off the fire alarm.

as they reached the fork in the path that led to their separate dorms, chenle turned to the group, his expression suddenly serious. he placed a hand on jisung’s shoulder, his grip firm.

“attention everyone,” he announced, his voice still slurred but ringing with conviction. “i have an important announcement. after careful consideration and witnessing his ability to withstand my presence for multiple weeks… park jisung is now officially my friend.”

he said it like he was bestowing a knighthood.

jaemin whooped. jeno clapped. renjun rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling.

jisung just stood there, looking at chenle’s hand on his shoulder, then at his bright, earnest, slightly drunk face. his heart was doing that frantic, runaway thing again.

chenle grinned, squeezing his shoulder once before letting go. “don’t look so surprised. you earned it.”

as they all said their goodbyes and began to drift apart, chenle heading off with renjun, jisung stood frozen on the pavement. the spot on his shoulder where chenle’s hand had been felt like it was glowing.

jaemin slung an arm around him, pulling him towards their dorm. “see? socializing. it’s not so bad.”

jisung didn’t answer. he was too busy replaying the entire night in his head, every laugh, every glance, every accidental touch. he probably hadn’t met anyone who made him laugh as much as chenle. he definitely hadn’t met anyone who made him feel so completely, terrifyingly alive.

he was so, so screwed.

—————————

chenle decided as his champion died for the third time in ten minutes, that his brain was a traitorous, split-screened mess. on one side, there was the game: the familiar glow of the rift, the frantic pings, the easy, anonymous camaraderie with superexpert. on the other side, taking up an increasingly large and obnoxious amount of processing power, was the memory of a boy in a black shirt, smiling at him in the dark of a movie theater.

pyong: bro u are INTING today
pyong: did u forget how to click

superexpert: lagging.
superexpert: and ur one to talk. u just walked into their entire team.

pyong: that was a calculated engage! u were supposed to follow up!

superexpert: calculated my ass. u looked like a lemming marching into the sea.

chenle laughed, a real, loud laugh that echoed in his quiet dorm. he liked superexpert. he liked the rhythm of their insults, the shared understanding that they were both, fundamentally, kind of bad at the game but loved it anyway. it was simple. it was easy. it didn’t make his heart do stupid, fluttering things behind his ribs.

jisung, on the other hand, was messing with his brain.

after the group hangout, something had shifted. the dam had broken. they were texting. a lot. not just “when’s the assignment due” or “can you send me the notes,” but actual, sustained conversations that started with memes and spiraled into debates about the best flavor of ice cream (it's objectively mint chocolate chip” “that’s toothpaste, you monster”) or long, rambling complaints about their respective roommates.

it was chenle who’d seen the trailer for the new superman movie and remembered jisung mentioning it weeks ago, offhand, in the library. his fingers had typed the invitation before his brain could veto it.

chenle: superman movie friday. ur buying the popcorn to make up for all the emotional damage u caused me during the project.

the typing bubble had appeared, disappeared, and reappeared for a full minute.

jisung: ok.

and that was that. which is how chenle found himself spending a truly ridiculous amount of time getting ready on friday evening. he tried on three different hoodies before settling on a deep burgundy one that renjun had once said “almost makes you look like a functional adult.” he messed with his hair, spritzed on cologne, and then stared at his reflection in frustration.

“what are you doing?” he muttered to the boy in the mirror. “it’s just jisung.”

but that was the problem. it was jisung. jisung, who was quickly becoming not just a project partner, not just a friend, but a… a jisung-shaped anomaly in chenle’s universe.

he didn’t like whatever jisung was doing to him, this feeling of being off-balance, of his thoughts constantly circling back to a pair of dark, quiet eyes and a rare, devastating smile. but he couldn’t stop it. and he couldn’t stop the low thrum of anticipation at the thought of seeing him again.

chenle had had girlfriends before. he wasn’t some inexperienced teenager blindsided by a crush. he knew the drill. the fluttering nerves, the desire to impress. this was different. this was sharper, more disorienting. the fact that it was a guy didn’t bother him in the slightest; what bothered him was the utter lack of control over himself. the fact that park jisung, of all people, a boy who communicated mostly in grunts and withering glances, could make him, zhong chenle, feel flushed and clumsy.

and then jisung had shown up, and it got worse.

because jisung looked… good. stupidly, unfairly good. he was wearing a simple black shirt and loose, dark pants, and the combination should not have been as effective as it was. it made him look taller, sharper, the lines of his shoulders and collarbones stark against the dark fabric. he looked like a moody movie star slumming it with a civilian.

“you’re late,” jisung said, his hands shoved in his pockets.

“no, you're just early,” chenle corrected, aiming for breezy and landing somewhere in the vicinity of ‘mildly strangled’. “you look… dark.”

jisung looked down at himself, then back up, one eyebrow raised. “it’s a color.”

“a very broody color. very ‘i write poetry in a graveyard’.”

“you’re weird,” jisung said, but the corner of his mouth twitched. and just like that, some of the tension seeped out of chenle’s shoulders. it was still jisung. broody, awkward, perfect jisung.

the movie was a blast, mostly because chenle provided a running commentary in a hushed, rapid-fire whisper.

“okay, but the physics of that are so wrong,” he muttered as superman caught a falling plane. “the plane would just… disintegrate around him. it’s basic structural integrity!”

he expected jisung to shush him, or elbow him, or ignore him completely. instead, jisung leaned closer, his arm pressing against chenle’s in the shared armrest, and whispered back, “maybe the plane is made of, like, alien alloy.”

chenle stared at him, stunned. “that’s the dumbest headcanon i’ve ever heard.”

“you started it,” jisung said, and then he smiled. a real, proper smile, there in the flickering dark, aimed right at chenle.

it felt like being punched in the solar plexus in the best possible way. chenle’s breath hitched. he was grateful for the darkness hiding the sudden, violent flush he could feel heating his entire face.

jisung didn’t just tolerate his noise; he engaged with it. he laughed at chenle’s jokes, he offered his own (surprisingly dry, witty) observations about the plot, and when the credits rolled, he turned to chenle with bright, excited eyes.

“that was so good,” jisung said, and he sounded genuinely happy. “the score, and the way they handled the origin story without it feeling repetitive…”

chenle just nodded, mesmerized.

the feeling only intensified on the walk back. the night was cool, the campus paths quiet. they were talking about the movie again, debating the villain’s motivation, and chenle was gesturing wildly, as he did, when his hand accidentally brushed against jisung’s.

it was nothing. a fleeting, casual contact.

but it sent a jolt up chenle’s arm, sharp and electric. he yanked his hand back as if burned, his words faltering. he shoved his traitorous hand deep into his pocket, his heart hammering.

he chanced a glance at jisung. jisung hadn’t flinched. he hadn’t pulled away. he was just looking at chenle, his head tilted slightly, his expression soft and unreadable in the dim glow of the pathway lights. the thought, sudden and terrifying, flashed through chenle’s mind: if i hadn’t pulled away, would he have?

the idea that jisung might not have minded the contact, might have even welcomed it, made chenle want to run. he felt like a stupid loser teenager in love, all clumsy hands and a racing heart, and he hated it. he was zhong chenle! he was supposed to be the one who was the cause of others blushing, not the one being affected.

“anyway,” chenle said, his voice coming out an octave too high. “it was a good movie.”

“yeah,” jisung agreed, his voice quiet. he was still looking at chenle. he was always looking. and chenle was always noticing.

they reached the point where their paths diverged. the silence stretched, thick and charged.

“so,” jisung said.

“so,” chenle echoed.

“i, uh… had a good time.”

“me too,” chenle said, and he meant it with a terrifying intensity. “see you, jisung.”

“see you.”

chenle turned and practically power-walked back to his dorm, his mind a screaming vortex of confusion. he needed an adult. he needed a manual. he needed to talk to renjun.

—

he burst into their room to find renjun sitting cross-legged on his bed, wearing a silk sleeping mask and a deep scowl.

“i was meditating,” renjun said, not moving. “you have the energy of a startled wildebeest. it’s disrupting my chi.”

“my chi is disrupted!” chenle announced, throwing himself onto his own bed with a groan. “i have a problem. a jisung-shaped problem.”

renjun slowly pushed the eye mask up onto his forehead. he looked deeply unimpressed. “this again? did he finally snap and tell you to shut up? it was inevitable.”

“no! it’s worse! he… he doesn’t.” chenle rolled over to face him, propping his chin on his hands. “we went to the movies. he listened to me talk through the whole thing. he talked back. he smiled. he looked really, really good in a black shirt, renjun, it was a targeted attack on my sanity.”

renjun stared at him for a long moment. “let me get this straight. your problem is that a smart, handsome boy, who you clearly like, enjoyed spending time with you and was pleasant company. what a nightmare. my deepest condolences.”

“you don’t understand!” chenle wailed, burying his face in his comforter. “i can’t control it! i get all… flustered. i pulled my hand away when i touched him like some victorian maiden who’d never seen a man before. it’s humiliating!”

there was a long silence. then, the sound of renjun sighing, the long-suffering sigh of a sage forced to counsel a village idiot. “chenle.”

chenle peeked out from the blankets.

“you’re an idiot,” renjun said, with the air of someone stating a fundamental truth of the universe. “but you’re my idiot.” he swung his legs off the bed and padded over to his desk, pulling out a fancy tin of fancy candies and two tea bags. “so. you’re having a gay crisis over the human equivalent of a sad, handsome raincloud.”

“he’s not sad, he’s contemplative”

“he contemplates his own navel and the crushing weight of existence,” renjun corrected, filling an electric kettle. “but fine. you like him. and it’s freaking you out because it’s a guy, and it feels different, and you’re not in the driver’s seat for once.”

chenle sat up, stunned. “how did you…?”

“i have eyes. and ears. and i’m forced to live with you.” renjun placed a cup of steaming chamomile tea and a handful of wrapped candies on chenle’s nightstand. “the ‘guy’ thing is a non-issue if you don’t make it one. you like who you like.” he shrugged, a rare, genuine, almost gentle look on his face. “you’re not supposed to control your feelings. that’s the point.”

chenle looked at the tea, the candies, at renjun’s serious face. he felt a sudden, overwhelming surge of gratitude. “you’re being nice to me. are you dying?”

“don’t get used to it,” renjun snapped, the moment broken. he went back to his bed and pulled his eye mask down. “my advice is this: stop overthinking it. you’re zhong chenle. you’re a disaster, but you’re a charismatic disaster. if you want to hold his hand, then for god’s sake, hold his hand. just stop whining about it. it’s giving me a headache.”

chenle picked up a candy, unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth. the sweetness burst on his tongue. he looked at his friend, who was now pretending to be asleep, and he thought, not for the first time, that he was really, really lucky to have him.

“thanks, renjun.”

“you’re welcome. now be quiet. my chi needs recalibrating.”

chenle leaned back against his pillows, the sweet taste lingering. renjun was right. he was overthinking it. so he decided to not think at all. he picked up his phone, a new, reckless courage buzzing under his skin.

chenle: hey. u free to play some league tomorrow?

the reply came faster than he expected.

jisung: yeah. after lunch.

chenle grinned. it was a start. he was still a mess, but maybe, just maybe, it was okay to be a mess. as long as jisung kept looking at him like that, he could probably get used to the feeling of freefall.