Zitao's screen was bright — way too bright. The teenager cursed underneath a hot breath as his corneas burned, and he twisted his face into the cloth of his pillowcase. It smelled like hormones and sweat, and his mother's shrill voice rattled in his skull, nagging about the godawful stench of his bedroom that challenged that of a men's locker room. Then again, there were more important things to do than wash the sheets.

Now, the calloused pad of his thumb was refreshing his email inbox, awaiting his room assignment for his upcoming year as a college freshman. The anxious bundle of excitement that nested in his stomach had inclined him to set an alarm for six in the morning when the information was leaked. So, here he was. The clock read 6:03, and he was becoming impatient.

Zitao was terrified. Four years of his precious youth were devoted to this immediate future. Sure, the boy was a lazy , but he sincerely whipped himself into shape those final semesters before submitting college applications. Thus, he earned a spot in a prestigious university that dented the family into lifelong debt. Simultaneously, Zitao knew he did not belong there. He was not intellectual, nor was he conscientious. The bloke had faked his worthiness, and it only promised him another four years of feeling inferior. Along with that, with his luck, he would probably be rooming with an ace: senior class president, valedictorian, and don't forget the 2400 SAT score. It was inevitable.

Finally, an unread message appeared. The worrywart fretted. It took a gust of courage for him to open the email and scroll down. An unceremonious list declared his residence hall, room number, and roommate. 

Priestley Hall, Room #116, Kris Wu.

The boy swallowed, and he stared at the black text for a long time. All these words were foreign to him — Once they were in front of him, they had little meaning. The contact information of this "Kris Wu" was included below, but Zitao was tired. He shut off his phone, enveloping him and his room in darkness.

—

Zitao was wrong. 

Kris Wu was nothing like he had imagined. 

It was a couple days afterward that he decided to research his first acquaintance at Berkeley. His heart thanked the creators of Facebook and Twitter. Stalking had never been easier.

Kris Wu was strange. The Facebook profile provided nothing but outdated and blurry photos, and Twitter was trashed with meaningless retweets of classmates and sports. So far, Zitao could conclude that his roomie was a goofy looking kid from Oregon that cashiered part-time at Home Depot — totally average. 

He peered at the fuzzy image that was last posted. Kris had a soggy mop of black hair, and Zitao could predict he owned nothing but ill-fitting jeans and graphic tees. What a shame, he muttered in his overly dramatic mind. A cute boy would have been nice. At least Zitao could spare the fate of pining after a hottie all year, one that lived six feet away from him. 

—

Zitao never contacted Kris, and Kris never contacted Zitao.

Soon enough, summer departed for the year, and Zitao was crammed into a minivan with his entire family and a dozen cardboard boxes. Even so, the air conditioning was cranked to its max, and his little brother was whimpering in the humidity of the backseat. The junior devil was punting a tirade of kicks into the back of his seat, and he could not be more grateful that his new home was two hours southwards. 

"I feel like we're forgetting something," his mother fussed for the seventh time in the last hour. Her dainty hands were wrapped around the steering wheel, and Zitao was afraid she would whip the car around in a u-turn to return home. 

"It's too late to turn back now," he reminded in the same drawl he had voiced the past six times. Yet, he knew she would continue to worry — hey, he inherited it from somewhere, right? The two worried enough for the whole household. "Mom, we can always stop by the store if we're missing something."

"I know, I know." Her eyes were trained on the road, and he was aware she was withholding the waterworks. 

Zitao's mouth opened to say more, but he stopped himself. Instead, he turned away and rested his forehead on the cool glass of the window. 

In all honesty, he felt guilty. Ever since he was twelve, he had been the man of the house, and he knew this was breaking his mother's heart. It wasn't that she couldn't function and provide without him, but he was dependable. The duo were the all-star team, and he was sorry that the house would be a fraction more empty without him. 

—

"I'll call you, okay?" Zitao promised with his arms wrapped tight around the skinny figure of his mother. She always badgered him for being too thin while shoving more food down his throat, but she was easily half his size. 

"Wait, are you sure you don't need—" She tried to pull away.

"No," he interrupted as he tightened his arms, standing still in the tight space of his dorm room. More quietly, he added, "I'll miss you."

Zitao was ty with emotions, and he rarely expressed them through words. So, he understood the shaky exhale that his mother breathed out before whispering, "Me too. I love you, my baby. Stay safe here, okay? And make sure you eat all your meals and—"

She could ramble an essay and title it "Necessities for Huang Zitao", but it could never replace the comfort of having her right beside him. Zitao managed to usher her out after ten minutes. The door clicked shut, and all he wanted to do was burst through and crush her in another hug. He wanted to cry and thank her for everything and cry and return the unanswered "i love you"s and cry, but he held his tongue.

—

Zitao did cry over the next hour, but he cried alone.

Eventually, he convinced himself to stop being such a sorry wuss, and he began unpacking his belongings. After scouring the Internet for tips on the college essentials, he had minimized his baggage. Even if he wasn't mentally prepared, he would sure as hell maintain a controlled space. Otherwise, he would go crazy.

The new student was straightening the pencils in his desk drawer when the door opened, and his eyes snapped to the ruckus across the room. First, he saw the blonde hair. It was almost platinum, and he could imagine it was blinding in the California sunlight. On top of that, it was neatly shaven on the sides and slicked back in a modern style. Next, overwhelmed was an understatement when the stranger's facial features and attire were given the attention they deserved.

, he was hot.

Whoever he was, the newcomer must be an upperclassmen. Maybe he was a transfer, because that would explain his lost expression. 

"Um," Zitao cleared his throat, and it sounded ugly. "I think you're in the wrong—"

"Zitao, right?" The man questioned with a crooked smile.

The named individual wanted to sink into his seat. There was no way those teeth were real. It was almost comical — The unknowing boy was overcome by hysteria. His brain was mush. 

"I.. uh..." Wow, real intelligent. There must be a mistake. Maybe his roommate was swapped. Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe Kris Wu died in some horrific explosion. Either way, this extended silence was insufferable. "Yes," he blurted out. A sheepish recovery had him fixing his stare elsewhere and mumbling, "Yeah, I'm Zitao."

"Lovely," the other responded as if there was no riff in their conversation. Zitao only noticed the multitude of bags that the man was toting right now. "I'm Kris. I've been dying to meet you." 

Suddenly, he wished Kris Wu had died in a sea of blazing lava. This was going to be a nightmare.

"Me too," he uttered dryly.

—

Once again, Kris Wu was nothing like he had imagined.

This human Adonis was nothing like the dorky, unhygienic kid Zitao had pinpointed as his future roommate. Yet, Kris was not an overachieving genius, either. As ineloquent and shabby as it sounded, he could only summarize this individual in one way: Kris was ing cool. 

The man strutted through campus clad in dark-washed denim and worn leather, and he didn't give a about the unbearable heat. A pair of expensive sunglasses were perpetually perched on his nose, minus the moments he shuffled into the dorm room and slanted a suave smile in Zitao's direction. His fingertips were either smudged with charcoal or dirt, but it depended on the day. Mondays and Thursdays were when Kris showcased his superstar-like abilities in lacrosse. One day, Zitao mentioned that the dirt was dirtier than normal — totally black. Then, he suggested that the jerk take a shower. Kris snickered and thumbed a streak of charcoal onto the boy's cheek, coolly explaining in the simple statement of "it's art". 

Zitao could not describe this man. Kris was hard, but he was soft. He was hot, but he was cold. He was a pain in the , but Zitao was impossibly obsessed with him.

Surprisingly, there was one area where Zitao was not wrong. Like he had anticipated, he felt incredibly inferior. Kris was like this ray of brilliance that wandered above him, glimmering just shy of his fingertips. Zitao reached and reached, but he was discovering that the more he yearned and stretched out his arm, the further he drowned in Kris' shadow.

—

It was November, and the two had been living together for three months.

Effortlessly, Kris had attracted his own bundle of friends, and Zitao preferred to isolate himself in the comfort of these four walls. The boy had accepted that they were worlds apart, but that didn't cushion his disappointment. It didn't help that Kris was so goddamn flirty. 

Zitao would be toeing into his shoes, and Kris would voice a smooth "babe, pick up some creamer". Zitao would be changing his shirt in the corner of the room, and Kris would emit a low whistle in applause. Zitao would be waiting to use the bathroom, and Kris would exit, steam leaking out from behind him, pressing his slick skin to the other as he sidestepped through. 

Zitao was always caught off guard — never without a hitched breath and pink flush. 

Those dark eyes and coy smiles were going to be the death of him. 

—

Kris was a slob and hated asparagus. 

Zitao penned down the little flaws, which were few and far between.

—

Kris drank his coffee with two sugars and tied his left shoe first.

Zitao penned down the things he loved about Kris, which came in abundance. 

Strangely, one by one, he added each flaw to this same list.

—

Kris came home drunk one night, and everything changed.

Zitao couldn't blame him, really. It was nearing the end of the first semester, and all their peers were throwing massive parties as final exams were wrapping up. Of course, his dear roommate was invited to every one. 

The oversized idiot stumbled through the door hours after midnight, and Zitao peered over the top of his laptop at the heaping mess of man. From what he knew, Kris normally held his alcohol pretty well. However, the horrid stench that bloomed in the room made the binge-watching boy crinkle his nose. With a sigh, he closed Netflix and tucked his laptop away. 

"You fell asleep in your clothes last time," Zitao mumbled as he crawled out of bed, approaching the drunken man. 

Kris wore a goofy grin, and he chose to ignore it as he rummaged through the other's closet. A pile of sleepwear was tossed in Kris' direction, but none of it was caught. The fool whined at the fabric at his feet.

"Put them on," the younger commanded with half a mind. He was amazed when his directions were followed, albeit Kris' movements were sloppy and he might have heard a rip of seams. 

The brushing of teeth and other nightly activities were best saved for morning — or whenever the hangover subsided. So, when Kris was clad in suitable clothing and continued to give him that funny look, he ignored it and nudged the male into his bed. Yet, a pair of large hands found the curve of his waist when he shoved Kris with more force, and the couple collapsed onto the college typical, mediocre mattress. 

Shocked (and cringing at this movie-esque situation), Zitao scrambled and tried to right himself. But, if he knew anything from staring longingly at this person for months and months, he knew that this one had some muscle. He was stuck. 

The alarm clock on the bedside table ticked the seconds that passed, and it was the sole sound in the room.

"You kinda like me, don't you?" Kris breathed out with his signature smirk, and it was still breathtaking despite the aroma of whiskey that clouded between them. Zitao froze, sprawled out like a moron against the one he was so hopelessly infatuated with. Before he could react further, the man hummed lowly, smile tightening. "It's okay. I kinda like you, too."

Next thing he knew, there was barf over his shoulder.

—

Weeks passed, and neither mentioned that night. Winter break commenced soon after, and the two acted natural as students returned from their respective hometowns, second semester lugging onward. Zitao assumed that the man's memory was wiped, and he tried to assure himself that this was for the better. Besides, the confession was nonsense. Kris would never be interested in a nobody like him.

Zitao thought that these insecurities were better suited for high school. Things were supposed to change here. This was supposed to be his new start. Yet, the unanticipated handicap named Kris Wu was proving to stagger his progress. Zitao wished he was born a different person.

These thoughts were swimming in his head, and the sound of Kris digging into a bag of chips was noticed in the background.

"So, when are you gonna ask me on a date?" The man's deep voice traveled from his side of the room.

"...What?" Zitao blinked when he realized he was being spoken to. He probably seemed like a halfwit for zoning out so often.

"Are you going to do something with that crush or keep it locked up forever?" Kris wondered as he snickered, calm as ever while he lounged on his bed.

"I'm not sure what you mean." Defense mechanism number one: play dumb. If anything, he hated being toyed with.

"You like me. I told you already."

Zitao stared down at his textbook, thumb and forefinger rubbing at the corner of the next page. Sure, he was mad for Kris, but he never allowed his brain to think further than that. Fantasies and daydreams were pastimes for the pretty girls that he presumed Kris flirted with at every Friday night party.

"...Tao?" From the corner of his eye, he saw the movement of Kris looking up, likely arching a brow towards him.

Defense mechanism number two: —. Zitao was not versed well enough to continue, so he opted to surrender. "Yeah, I like you. So what?" The fact that he could stomach that was beyond impressive, but he still felt nauseous. 

Kris may be playful, but he was rather smart. Their banter would proceed for hours if he didn't take charge. "Okay," he said as he finalized his own decision. "Saturday at 7. Movie night... Right here?" 

"I don't go home with men on the first date," Zitao cut in, hiding his smile.

"Ah, of course." Both of them knew that they were too broke to afford something fancy. "Fine. Pizza. My treat." 

Finally, the boy looked over to the smug jerkface. Still, something about Kris' smile was foreign, almost like he was nervous. It was a silly idea, because there was not a nerve in his body. 

"Pizza it is," Zitao agreed, shyness filling his cheeks with a rosy hue. 

He could have sworn he heard Kris muttering "jackpot" as he turned away, resuming the highlighting of passages in his lap. 

aw, my first taoris piece in a year. thanks for tuning in :-)

a sequel is very likely, so let me know if you are interested!