“Hey.” Minghao opens the door, wad of paper still held to his nose. Mingyu looks up at him, “If you’re going to be sitting here, could you watch my stuff for a minute? I need to clean up.” Mingyu nods as Minghao retreats around the corner into the bathrooms. He set his bag down next to Mingyu’s feet, an old black and white Adidas bag, worn from years of use with a tiny hole up by the left shoulder strap and a keychain on it with a few picture tags, a picture of him with his parents, a picture of his gorgeous dog, a few flags; America, Hong Kong, China, and the last one being Korea’s. Maybe Soonyoung got it for him during a trip. The only other accessories on the bag are several buttons from what appears to be meet-ups and conventions centered around choreography and performance art. There’s one from a corgi meet up in Oregon and one that just says ‘my dog > me > you’. Some are dinged and scratched up from their time weathering on the side of a well-loved bag. Some are pristine and new.

          Minghao’s gone for almost five minutes before he comes back into the hallway, a wad of damp paper towels in his hand. His bloody nose had stopped, so why is he toting around paper towels? The auburn-haired man glances at Mingyu with straight, affirming lips and enters back into A3 with a full body push of the door. He’s tired, but he’s still bent over cleaning blood off the floor. Mingyu leaves their things; the bag and the cookies. He follows in after Minghao, kneeling next to him and asking for half the napkins to clean the other side of the dancefloor where Soonyoung had left a few speckles of blood in his wake.

          Minghao stubbornly refuses. 

          Mingyu sighs.

          It’s been a long- night and he’s just about done with everything. He especially doesn’t want to deal with Minghao’s salt at this hour and it’s not even that late. It’s only 7:30.

          “Stop being so stubborn. I just want to help you clean up.”

          “It’s fine.”

          “You shouldn’t be bending down like that. It’s okay, just hand me a few.” Mingyu keeps holding his hand out until Minghao gives in and hands a few over. He may be a stickler for being clean and it seems like Minghao is as well because he cleans very thoroughly. Even still, there’s something kind of pitiful about watching a patient clean his own blood off the floor of his studio.

          “Thanks.”

          It’s genuine, but it sounds like it takes a lot of effort for Minghao to say it despite how curt it was.

          “No problem.” Mingyu tosses the paper towels in the trash with an easy motion. He misses and hears the other man cough out a scoff before shaking his head and picking up Mingyu’s mess. At least he’s smiling now. “Are you going to take me up on my offer?”

          “No.” Mingyu opens his mouth to argue for some reason, “If I can’t afford it, I don’t want it. Simple as that.”

          He waits for Minghao to turn off all the lights and double check that all the sound equipment is off. Jihoon had left his headphones in the rush so Minghao locks them away into the storage space under the desk holding the soundboard before he comes to the door. Mingyu is already holding it open for him and he steps through with hesitation, “Then consider it a gift?”

          “I don’t accept gifts.” Minghao picks his bag up, slinging it over his shoulder with a heave. All his weight is on his right leg, his contrapposto stance says it all.

          “Then an apology…” he debates his choice of words, “for high school.”

          At the mention of high school, Minghao looks like he wants to leave.

          Mingyu knows—for the millionth time—that high school was a bad time for them both. Minghao never saw the end of a particular group of drama kids picking fights with him and spreading that rumor around campus. Most of him, 95% of him, wants to apologize whole heartedly for the ordeal. 5% of him wants Minghao to accuse him of actually doing something wrong. There were nights during junior year that he should have spent awake in guilt, but he slept because studying is hard, college entrance exams are hard, tests are hard. Mingyu shouldn’t have been afforded sound, sleep-filled nights when Minghao was nursing bruises and split lips in the dark of his bathroom that was only lit by the moon.

          He should have stood up for him or gone to seek help from a higher power in the system. There were resources for that. Adults were willing to stop the bullying; all one needed to do was speak up, but for Minghao Xu no one ever spoke a word about it. That’s unjust. That’s not right. It wasn’t. Mingyu knows all about the names Minghao was called behind is back. He heard them in passing, in the corridors, behind the bleachers where people made out during games. No one dared say them to the dancer’s face aside from the few individuals that tormented him on the daily. And Minghao wasn’t the type to run. He’s got that sort of stupid, boyish pride to him. He would fight. He would get in trouble. And he’d often finish the school day hurt in one way or another. Mingyu knows it was bad.

          There was even an instance where Minghao couldn’t perform, the vice president of the club took his place leading the team. It was the rally right before Spring break and at the apex of Minghao’s torturous junior year. His mother had called in to tell the school he was sick, but Mingyu knew that was a lie. Minghao had a neighbor on the soccer team who told them that Minghao couldn’t get out of bed that Friday; that he’d taken a metal rod to the leg on his way home from school on Thursday. He had too much pride to go to the hospital, but couldn’t even stand.

          Mingyu’s guilt from that day stewed. It stewed and boiled harder than anything had ever hurt him before; as if he was hurting for them both. In reality, Minghao probably just popped a few pain killers and got back on his feet. He went to school on Monday ready to fight and the fight never came because Minghao had real friends. Friends that weren’t Mingyu. Friends that stood up for him and went to go give the bullies a taste of their own poison that weekend. After his friends found out, they never let Minghao go anywhere alone. It was always a pack of two or more. Even the soccer team saw notable strength increase in their teamwork when Field Day came around and all the clubs competed against each other. Of course, track and field won, but dance was a close second. Mingyu could only watch from the track team’s perch on the highest of outdoor bleachers as the dance team accepted second place and threw their leader into the air. It ached and it burned in his gut to know that he didn’t do anything to help. Mingyu was useless.

          And he still desperately wants to fix his past.

          But Wonwoo’s random words keep coming to mind and he thinks about building a better future.

          “Can we just not bring up high school every time you want me to do something?” Minghao raises an eyebrow, frowning. He picks up his bag and makes way for the lobby.

          “Okay. Then, how about this,” Mingyu follows him into the parking lot where the latter stops walking, “you come over to my place every day after I’m done with work. Bring dinner and we’ll call it even.”

          “Wow. Forward.” Yeah, that probably wasn’t the smoothest way to propose a plan.

          “Don’t take it the wrong way, it’s not like I have a private practice. My place is the best I can do. There are cameras outside if you’re worried about getting murdered or something.”

          “Mingyu, you couldn’t hurt me even if you wanted to.” What does he mean?

          “Hey, don’t you want another piercing?” The shot is made in the dark, but Minghao’s wide-eyed reaction tells Mingyu that he’s finally on to something.

          If the math works out—which it should since it’s simple addition—then there ought to be a direct correlation between the number of trophies won and the number of piercings Minghao has. It was a detail he hadn’t paid much attention to since Minghao’s had his ears pierced since he’d first laid eyes on him, but the large increase in quantity from then till now is what grabbed Mingyu’s attention. That and maybe because so much silver in his ears made Mingyu’s nerves do silly things.

          “My ride’s here.” Minghao clears his throat, “Soonyoung tried to stick me with you, but my roommate got back into town yesterday, so joke’s on him. You can get my number from Wonwoo.” He steps into the street and into a sleek BMW that pulls over. When the lights come on from Minghao opening the passenger door, Mingyu’s shaken that his roommate is so uniquely handsome.

          What the actual hell, Minghao Xu.

          It takes Mingyu a few minutes to realize that Minghao had essentially accepted his offer because he’s still caught up over the dark-eyed roommate who dresses too nicely for someone who just exists for a living. He must have a good job somewhere outside of their town because nothing around here pays that well. Then again, if he’s paid so well, why would he need a roommate especially one that struggles financially as much as Minghao?

          Maybe Mingyu’s imagination goes haywire, creating a fantasy about how Minghao is somehow indebted to his roommate, or maybe he’s halfway to the truth. A more reasonable explanation is that his roommate isn’t that rich and just likes to spend his money on showy things. That could be it.

          Still, the amount of attractive friends that Minghao has now is stupid.