The air here is different. Zitao knows it the second he takes his first step off the plane.

But then again, that could just be because he has finally gotten off the plane, out of that cramped cabin if the airplane, away from his position as seatmate to that puking kid.

Korea is going to be great, he’s sure of it.

There’s a bus service that connects his new school to the airport, he just has to wait about 13 stops for it arrive. It’s a long trip but it passes pretty quickly once he pops in his earphones and faces the window, letting the scenery fly past him.

He’s shaken awake about 30 minutes later and he honestly doesn’t remember when he even fell asleep but it doesn’t matter. He’s ushered out by the kind looking man who had been driving the bus and is then greeted by a smiling lady who is helpful enough to give him his room key and directions to the dorms.

“Hello?” Zitao calls out when he opens the door to his new dorm. There’s no reply and he thinks that the dorm is empty until he catches sight of the figure on the couch, staring up at him with a blank look.

“Hi.” The boy doesn’t make an effort to move and formally introduce himself or shake Zitao’s hand or even wave. He just sits there, long, lanky legs propped up on the coffee table, staring.

Looks like he’ll have to make the first move. “Hello.” He starts again, his syllables slow and enunciated. He’s practiced his introduction so many times in the mirror before and he wants to be sure that all his hard work doesn’t go to waste. “My name is Zitao. I’m your new roommate. Nice to meet you.” He bows a full 90 degrees.

“Sehun.” is all that comes in response and at first, Zitao thinks that that is some slang that he doesn’t understand but then he comes to realize that no, that’s just the guy’s name. The boy doesn’t appear to be willing to say anything else and Zitao is too tired to pry out a more sufficient introduction.

Zitao then eyes the hallway. “My bed is ready, right?” His words come out a bit ruder than he intended but it's justified. He's tired and chit-chatting can come later when he's not on the verge of passing out. Flying takes a lot out of him.

Sehun nods.

“It’s the bedroom on the right?”

He nods again.

“Well it was nice to meet you.”

Sehun nods once more.

Zitao pads off to his new room, putting the whole odd roommate introduction behind him.

He sleeps for a full 12 hours but Zitao still wakes up feeling like complete and utter . He probably would've stayed tucked under his heap of blankets for a couple hours longer but his stomach is grumbling at him to go and eat.

His will to sleep is strong but the roar of his stomach is stronger. He gets up.

He shuffles over to the kitchen slowly, his sight partially obstructed by his hands that are furiously trying to rub away the bleariness in his vision. Without too many accidents, Zitao manages to make his way to the dorm's kitchen, eyes zeroing in on the huge fridge and he rushes towards it.

"Good morning," Says a quiet voice from behind him and he jumps nearly a foot in the air from the sudden noise.

He peeks over his shoulder to see his roommate -- Sehun? -- munching thoughtfully on a piece of toast that appears much too charred to be edible. The boy continues to eat away at the taste of the burnt piece of starch, regardless, not even slightly put off by the taste and Zitao watches in awe as Sehun continues to chow down on the carcinogenic matter. "How'd you sleep?" Sehun asks between bites. He talks with food in his mouth and his mouth is now coated with black ash. Zitao is vaguely disgusted.

"Good." He says simply, turning away to face back to the kitchen because he can't take much more of watching his roommate eat that... thing. Zitao pulls open the fridge and stares vacantly at the interior. It's completely empty save for three cans of Sprite, a nearly empty bottle of salad dressing, and several sticks of butter. He sighs and closes the fridge dejectedly.

"Good?" The voice startles him once more.

Zitao doesn't know if Sehun is questioning his Korean or if he's just being friendly. Regardless of the reason, he just repeats his answer. "Good."

That marks the end of the conversation as an odd silence fills the air. Zitao eyes at the wooden cabinets hanging on the walls with interest. They have food carrying potential and he contemplates going through them for something substantial to eat. Ultimately, he decides against the raid; he'd probably be met with the same disappointing results as the fridge. Instead he grabs a piece of bread and then slides into the seat next to Sehun.

They eat, not a single word exchanged between the two.

By email, Zitao is alerted of his upcoming appointment with his adviser on Saturday. It’s kind of sad how excited he is. The last couple of days have been full of moving in, unpacking his boxes and making the dorm feel more like home, as well as eating in silence as Sehun and he mindlessly watch whatever happens to be on TV. This will be his first legitimate conversation in days and he wouldn’t miss the meeting for the world.

Saturday comes and ZItao finds the meeting place with relative ease. He’s actually embarrassingly early and he finds it a relief when he tries the doorknob and the door swings open, revealing a desk. He scurries around the desk and goes to make himself comfortable in the chair seated in front of the desk. He busies himself with counting in Korean to make the time go by faster. He makes it to 4,382 before his adviser steps in.

The minute Junmyeon walks into the meeting room, Zitao can tell that the other man is intimidated. It’s not the first time; it’s certainly not the last -- not with a face like his.

Junmyeon’s reaction to the intimidation, however, is quite original.

Zitao doesn't look but he can hear the door swing open in front of him and a bright and cheery voice call out "Sorry I'm late, I had to--" The sentence is cut off midway and Zitao glances up just in time to see his advisor drop his huge stack of papers.

What's funny is that he doesn't even bother to pick them up. What's funny, actually, is the fact that he doesn't even seem to realize that he's dropped his papers. The sheets of white flutter down to the floor while he stares at Zitao, eyes wide with what seems like fear. Zitao can feel the man's stare boring holes into the silver in his ears. Said ears burn bright red.

He bows slightly, hoping to ease the palpable tension with some sort of introduction. "I-I'm Huang Zitao," He stutters out and that seems to snap his advisor out of his daze.

The bright facade that the man came in with is pieced back together, fitted perfectly over the subtle look of alarm and possible disappointment that laid bare on Junmyeon's face. A big smile overtakes the advisor's face. It looks forced but Zitao tries to mirror it with one of his own as he shakes the man's outstretched hand. "Nice to meet you." The advisor brings up his other hand in order to grasp Zitao's firmly. "I'm Junmyeon, a senior, and your advisor. It's truly nice to meet you." The words sound strained and Zitao doesn't miss Junmyeon's eyes flickering back and forth between his eyes and his earrings.

"Are they... Against the dress code?" He asks softly as the advisor continues to stare, obviously too distracted by the metal to begin their advising session or even let go of Zitao's hand. Junmyeon's hands are sweaty and it's really quite disgusting and Zitao would really like him to stop holding his hand but wishes don't always come true. He repeats his question.

Zitao's words seem to break Junmyeon out of his trance. "What? No, no," he shakes his head but does not free the younger's hand, "Our school prides itself on accepting any and all forms of expression so long as they are deemed safe and appropriate.” The words sound recited.

The younger nods and attempts to retract his hand from the other’s grip. He’s not successful in his first couple of attempts but eventually, Junmyeon gets the message. “Oh sorry,” The advisor flashes a sheepish smile and then glances down at the floor. He visibly flinches when his eyes lay on the several dozen sheets of paper splayed out on the floor. “Oh my dear, look at what a mess I’ve made.”

Junmyeon drops to his knees to gather the fallen paper and Zitao feels obligated to help but the man finishes his paper round up in 2 seconds flat. In a blink of an eye, Junmyeon is seated at his desk, lightly thumping his stack of papers against the desk to line up the edges. He begins to speak once he’s satisfied with the paper’s arrangement.

For the most part, Zitao zones out on what the advisor has to say. It’s not particularly Junmyeon’s fault for his lack of interest, it’s just that it’s pretty much the same set of rules that his old school had. No alcohol, no drugs, and no homicide. Easy enough.

Only when Junmyeon begins to talk about club activity does Zitao tune back in.

“--so what club do you want to join?”

Zitao jumps to attention. “What?” He replies intelligently.

“What club would you like to join?” The advisor smiles and Zitao realizes belatedly that it’s a bit creepy how apart from their odd introduction, Junmyeon has been smiling this entire time.

Zitao blinks, racking his head for what exactly club meant. It takes some time for him to realize that no, Junmyeon did not mean a club club (Not that Zitao has ever been to a club. He’s totally too young to do stuff like that. Obviously.) but rather club as in a group that is dedicated to a particular interest or activity. Silly mistake.  “Do I have to?”

“Yes,” Junmyeon says quickly. Oddly quickly.

Zitao doesn’t think too much of it, though, simply passing it off as yet another enthusiastic quirk of his adviser. “Uhm… what are there?”

“Well… there’s a lot. I think it’d be easier if you just told me what you’re interested in. Then I could match you up with one.”

“Oh.” Zitao pauses. “Okay.”

Junmyeon smiles expectantly at him but coming up with his interests on the spot is hard and oddly stressful.

“...Wushu?” He tries.

To his dismay, the adviser furiously shakes his head. “We had one… but things happened. Now we don’t.” The narration is cryptic at best but the look on Junmyeon’s face keeps Zitao from asking anymore questions.

Zitao swears he has other interests but with Junmyeon looking at him like that, he blanks out.

“How about some things you like?” Junmyeon tries, that bright smile still on his face.

“Hot guys,” He blurts out and immediate regret fills him.

Junmyeon coughs and drops the papers again. This time, they slide right off the desk and go cascading towards the floor. Zitao would’ve laughed in any other situation, but he’s too busy thinking over his slip-up to react.

The older male sputters and that smile he was wearing before is gone. “Excuse me?”

"Are you..?" Junmyeon trails off and tries to convey the rest of his question with a series of eye motions.

Zitao gives him a blank look.

"You know..." The eye movements are repeated along with some obscure hand gestures.

Zitao narrows his eyes, confused.

“Are you…” Junmyeon tries again, his eyes darting around the room, flicking to and fro between  the desk, the ceiling,  the floor -- everywhere except Zitao’s eyes. His voice drops to a whisper. “Gay?”

Zitao blinks. Oh. Oh.

He searches the advisor’s face for any trace of disgust, rejection, but he finds none. All he sees is curiosity.

He swallows thickly. "Why else would I come to an all-boys boarding school?" Zitao jokes, hoping to lighten the mood. Hopefully that slight voice crack will go unnoticed.

To his relief, Junmyeon cracks a smile. "Point taken."

Zitao decides he likes Junmyeon.

He fumbles as he tries to unlock the front door while holding a huge box of piping hot pizza. It’s harder than you’d expect.

He manages somehow and strolls on into the dorm. Right on the couch lies Sehun as he stares blankly at the TV, legs stretched onto the coffee table in a position very much like how he was sitting when Zitao first came in about a week ago. The blonde boy doesn’t move his eyes from the screen, even when Zitao toes off his shoes and shuts the door with a bump of his hip. Zitao’s a bit annoyed that Sehun didn’t bother to open the door for him when he was banging on the door 5 minutes prior, requesting assistance to safely transport the pizza, but he’ll approach his roommate later on about his terrible manners, when he’s more comfortable around the boy.

“I have food,” Are the three magic words that make Sehun finally move, turn off the TV, and take a seat at the dining room table.

“My adviser bought it for me.” Zitao snorts as he’s reminded when Junmyeon had practically shoved his pretty black credit card into Zitao’s hands once the younger had given him explicit details about the contents of his dorm’s refrigerator.

“Keep it secret. Keep it safe,” Junmyeon had hissed as he tucked the card under Zitao’s fingers and then proceeded to point out the best places to eat around campus on a map. “And buy whatever you need.” He had sent Zitao out of his office with an affectionate pat of the head and a good luck.

Sehun grunts animalistically before ripping open the pizza box and snagging the biggest piece. He actually moans as his teeth sink into the melted cheese. Zitao, though just as hungry, has a bit more decency and moves to get some plates. When he opens the cabinet, to retrieve said plates, he finds that there is only a single plate left in the entire cupboard. The rest of them are piled high in the kitchen sink and it looks like Zitao also needs to discuss household responsibilities with Sehun whenever they get around to, you know, actually talking.

He takes the single plate for himself as Sehun looks like he’s doing just fine without any kind of dishware. About a third of the pizza is already gone when he returns back to the dining room table and it doesn’t look like Sehun is going to stop anytime soon. Zitao picks out a piece for himself before all of them are gone.

The pizza is really ing hot. He realizes that when he takes a bite and ends up burning his damned tongue. Sehun doesn’t seem to be bothered in the slightest and maybe, just maybe, Zitao has actually found a redeeming quality in the boy.

"Junmyeon is a chump," Zitao adds conversationally as he waits for his pizza to cool down.

Sehun looks up from his pizza with a bored look and Zitao gulps. Conversation thus far had been stilted at best (one sided, really, if you don’t count Sehun’s weird grunts as responses)  and he so desperately wants to break the looming silence. From the looks of it, though, Sehun does not have the same sentiments. He's about to drop his gaze, and pretend that that didn't just happen but Sehun beats him to it. His roommate swallows his obnoxiously large bite of pizza and asks, "Junmyeon?"

"My adviser."

There's a pause. "A chump?"

"A chump,” Zitao affirms, and that's the end of that.

Conversation starts up the next day when Sehun returns from his own advisor meeting. He has some sort of drink in his hand. Zitao thinks that’s what is called ‘bubble tea’. He’s not a hundred percent sure though.

“Minseok is cool,” Are the only words Sehun says when he goes to put his half finished drink in the fridge.

“Your adviser?” Zitao replies from his place on the couch.

There is Sehun’s trademark reply grunt.

“Is he?”

“Yeah.”

Sehun goes to his room.

The first day of school is full of teacher pleasantries and awkward introductions. Most of the students avoid him, Zitao realizes, but that’s something that will probably change as the year progresses. The teachers are friendly enough, though. One of his teachers happens to be from Qingdao as well and ends up talking his ear off about their hometown for a good hour after the last class of the day ends.

He doesn’t make it to the first club meeting that Junmyeon recommended he go to but he’ll try again tomorrow.

He doesn’t know what to expect.

But he does have expectations.

For one, he expects there to be hot guys. That was after all, the sole reason why he came in the first place. Any other aspect of the club is irrelevant to him, to be completely honest. All he hopes is that the club will be full of some cool people with at least some interests that eclipse his own.

He is disappointed on both fronts.

The second he pushes open the door to room 207, the quiet chatter in the room dies out and all heads whip around to look at him. The room is divided into two lines of seats facing each other, a wide gap created between the two rows. In that gap, seated in the far side of the room, is one chair that’s obviously nicer than the rest with its black -- leather? -- cushions and its rolling capabilities. In that seat is a pale-skinned boy with the features of an innocent boy. The animalistic glint in his eyes would say otherwise, though. Zitao thinks that is their leader.

He also thinks that the club seems a lot like a cult.   

That should’ve been his first clue to leave.

He makes his way toward the assumed head of the club. As he passes through the walkway created by the chairs, he feels the other members’ gazes on him. He feels like the other men are moving around him, getting closer to him but he chalks it up to an overactive imagination and slight anxiety.

Zitao is now standing in front of the leader and the boy finally rises from the chair. He’s a couple inches shorter than the other but the height difference doesn’t seem to bother the boy. “We’ve been expecting you.”

There’s a low mumble of the members. It sounds closer than he’d expect and when he turns to glance around, he realizes that the others have gathered in a circle around him. He isn’t sure when they even got up but it doesn’t really matter.

“My name is Lu Han,” The boy in front of him says and he extends a hand to shake. “And I’m the president of this club. Welcome.”

When Sehun comes back to his dorm, he opens the door to find what appears to be a blubbering Zitao who is wailing out in rapid-fire Mandarin. He really doesn't know how to respond. He really doesn't want to respond. He has plans to just book it to his room and go hide out there until this -- whatever this is -- blows over and he's just about to carry out these plans when Zitao glances up and are those actually tears in his eyes?

He tries to ignore it. He truly does. But Zitao looks legitimately sad and he does, unfortunately, have a conscience that is very knowledgeable about societal norms and just so happens to be screaming at him to ing comfort the goddamn kid.

Sehun strides towards his roommate with slow, cautious steps. He's never really done this before and he has no idea if he's supposed to sit down next to the guy or if he's supposed to like hug him or pat him on the back or maybe he's supposed to rub his arm reassuringly and GODDAMMIT WHAT IS HE SUPPOSED TO WITH HIS HANDS?

He's about two feet away from the figure curled up in the corner of the couch when he darts away to the kitchen.

It's only a matter of seconds before he returns with something in his hands.

His roommate peeks up at Sehun from behind his fringe and his eyes trail down to the outstretched hand. He wordlessly peers at the presented offering. "...Seriously?" Zitao whispers, barely audible. His voice grows louder, "I am crying and you give me...this?!"

Sehun supposes he's referring to the stick of butter and he understands, it's not the most conventional choice in comfort food -- certainly not his own first-pick -- but it's not his fault that the fridge is almost completely empty.

Before Sehun can even respond, something smacks him in the face. It takes him a bit of time to acknowledge the projectile as a couch pillow.

It doesn't hurt, not in the slightest, but he's shocked. Here he is, acting upon the goodness of his heart, and this is what he gets? Nope. He doesn't have to put up with this crap. this. He's not doing this anymore.

He spins around, intent on following through with original plan and camping out in his room, free of emotional, ungrateful, cushion-slinging roommates like Zitao, but he's stopped. There's a hand grasping the tail of his shirt and a small apology that hangs in the air.

He makes the mistake of looking back.

The eyes look pleading and desperate, almost lonely, and suddenly he's thinking about how alone Zitao must feel in this foreign country, away from all his friends, and stuck with a ty roommate who barely talks to him. He takes pity on the poor soul and relents, allowing himself to be pulled into the space next to his roommate.

He's seated right next to Zitao, their thighs are pressed up against each other and he thinks that this is closer than he’d like to be with a roommate he’s had for about a week.

Suddenly, Zitao lunges forward to wrap his arms around Sehun’s shoulders and bury his head into his chest and now he knows that this is far closer than he’d want to be with someone he’s said a total of 12 words to.

He still has no idea what he’s supposed to do with his arms and he ends up patting the guy’s back awkwardly.

That goes on for a few minutes until Zitao turns his head and mumbles something into his neck. The hot puff of breath on skin sends a shiver down Sehun’s spine but he’s just going to ignore that. “Aren’t you going to ask me what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Sehun asks in probably the most monotone voice there is.

“Club meeting.”

Sehun really hopes that his roommate is not hoping for him to continually bother him until he finally admits what’s wrong because that is not going to happen.

“...Freak.”

Sehun stops patting. “What?”

“They are all ing freaks. Every single one of them.”

Sehun continues patting him.

His next advisor meeting is on Friday. He stalks into the tiny room that’s been reserved for their meeting and throws himself into the chair in front of the desk Junmyeon is seated at. He crosses his legs, his arms, and slumps back into his chair with a piercing glare directed at the senior.

“You’re mad,” Junmyeon states the obvious. “Something happen?”

“I heard something interesting at that club you referred me to.” He spits out the word club with as much disgust as he can.

Junmyeon seems to pale. For good reason. “And what is that?”

“I heard you’re the financial adviser of the EXO club. That’s why you recommended me to that baneful place.”

The adviser averts his eyes. “But… it was fun… right?” He stutters. He ing stutters.

“They forced me to fingerprint a contract that binds me to their club for a year when I wasn’t looking and then actually tied me to a chair when I tried to leave.” Zitao leans forward and tilts his head a little to the left, a cheshire smile slowly stretching over his features. “You tell me if that’s what you call fun.”

Junmyeon seems to be at a loss of words. “I...Just… Lu Han’s my friend… He wants more members… It was something I had to do… I honestly didn’t think it’d be that bad, I swear.” He looks apologetic, like he’s truly sorry for the turn of events. But not sorry enough.

“You’re dead to me,” Zitao hisses out and makes a slitting motion across his throat.

The senior blinks and then squints at Zitao. “My diamond plus Visa card is in your wallet right now.” He points out.

Zitao blinks back at Junmyeon. “You’re not quite as dead to me.” He amends.

(It was fun though, Zitao admits. Looking back, it was fun to finally talk and interact with people who, in retrospect, weren’t as bad as they might’ve first came across and actually gave him far more in-depth response than his roommate’s grunts.

But he refuses to give Junmyeon or Lu Han the satisfaction of knowing that.)