Many thanks to my best bro NyanNai for being my beta!

Ten likes his room mate. He really does. But sometimes Hansol’s a bit much, obsesses a little too hard, and drags Ten into the depths of his obsessive rants, kicking and screaming. Ten obsesses plenty — just not over people. He understands things — dance, music, English — but not people. Not like Hansol understands people, anyway.

“I’m hot, right?” Hansol kicks at spilled-over gravel on the pavement and whines in a way he would never be seen dead doing in front of anyone besides close friends. He’s got an image to uphold.

Ten rolls his eyes only a little bit. His friend and roommate occupies a space inside ‘comfortable self-confidence’, barely a stone’s throw away from ‘flat-out conceited’. “According to the general consensus, you’re smoking hot.”

“Why does it not work on him then? Is it because his flaming charisma is drowning mine out? It’s not like he’s straight.”

“If you’re sure.” Ten says dubiously, not bothering to argue with the elder’s strange theories anymore, and pulls open the heavy doors to the fine arts building. It’s a weird time for a class to start, not in a usual block, so the halls are mostly empty. “You know the concept of a gaydar is lost on me. I can never tell.”

Hansol shrugs. “You seem to be doing fine.”

Ten blinks, wide-eyed, at Hansol’s words. “Huh? What does that mean?”

Hansol rolls his eyes, but Hansol’s eyes are huge, so the effect is almost like ‘Hansol rolls his entire head’. Fixing Ten with a knowing look, he says, “Don’t think I don’t notice you giggling every time that tall kid tries to be funny.”

“But, he is funny?”

“How is singing along to every song in a wonky voice funny? I do that all the time and you just look all annoyed and say ‘Hansol, I’m trying to skype my mom’.”

“I don’t know, it’s just the way he does it.”

“I’d tell you to cut the crap, but I do believe you are genuinely clueless.” After a beat of silence, wherein Ten almost thinks Hansol has forgotten about his earlier griping, he sigh-groans dramatically and picks right up where he left off. “He’s just so, devastatingly… Attractive. I mean, I have a theory that you can’t be THAT primped and pretty without having an eye for it. And you either learn from enjoying it,” The last two words are heavy with suggestions, “Or you can’t not enjoy it after knowing it exists. That would be like being an artist without liking art.”

Ten opens his mouth to respond, but draws a blank. “I don’t quite follow. What are you talking about exactly?”

“I’m saying,”  Hansol pulls open the door to the dance studio to let Ten in before himself, “Nakamoto Yuta can’t possibly be straight.”

“Oh.” Ten says dumbly as he shuffles into the room with Hansol close behind.

Hansol is infatuated with a boy in their current dance class and has been talking Ten’s ear off every chance he gets, now that Ten finally knows who Yuta is. Even though Hansol has been friends with Yuta for like 3 years, he's limited himself to speculating about whether or not he swings this way, and why he’s not falling over himself for Hansol’s usual charms by now.

He makes a strange squinty face at Ten’s lack of response, but stays quiet and quickly loses interest in Ten when his eyes find the object of his speculations stretching sprawled out on the floor, chatting with Johnny.

Johnny, who stops mid-conversation with Yuta when he notices Hansol’s gaze, waves them over.

“‘Sup, peasants?” He calls out when they approach, holding a hand up.

Ten trails after Hansol, who salutes Johnny with two fingers, and then in the same fluid motion pulls his arms above his head to stretch. Ten grins and high-fives Johnny’s waiting hand, which he suspects was for Hansol, by the taller boy’s awkward chuckle. Hansol, however, is currently too busy walking his hands on the floor with his in the air, under the guise of stretching. Upside-down, he winks playfully from between his legs at Yuta, who laughs good-naturedly and reaches over to shove his forehead.

Ten glances up to ask Johnny about his progress on their choreography assignment, to find the latter’s gaze suspiciously zoned out in the general direction of Hansol’s rear. Typical.

When Hansol rights himself again, he looks disgustingly pleased. He settles onto the floor, facing Yuta, and steal’s Ten’s question. Ten isn’t sure if he overheard and