Yifan spends more time staring at the boy with dark chestnut hair than he’d like to admit.

Every day in class, the boy takes the same seat in the front row, right in the middle of the lecture hall. He’d take out a large notebook with a purple cover and his name scrawled lazily on it (Yifan was usually too far away to see what it was) and furiously take notes on the lecture.

Yifan was often busy observing him, like how his hair was swept to the side, how his dented-almond shaped, dark brown-black eyes would crinkle up adorably whenever he smiled, or like how he had full lips but his bottom lip was fuller than his top lip, how his long nose complimented his slightly-long face, and of course, how whenever he smiled, there’d be a dimple in his right cheek.

This really put his grades in peril. But it’s not Yifan’s fault that he has the softest, most perfect features he’s ever seen.

There was a part of Yifan that wanted to hold his hand, learn more about him, brush his hair back with his hand, or smile as the smaller man would give Yifan kisses on the cheek.

Then there was the part of Yifan that wanted to see the boy’s innocence shatter underneath him, Yifan’s name trailing on his lips as he dipped his fingertips into the lines and curves of the boy’s body.

Yifan wasn’t sure which thought thrilled him more.

(There was also the part of Yifan that wanted to snap the neck of anyone who dared touch him, but he could never figure out which side that feeling belonged to so he left it sitting on the fence.)

Whenever he spoke up in class, Yifan would hold his breath so he could hear every word. He was soft-spoken, respectful, and obviously Chinese because of the accent in his Korean that mimicked Yifan’s. His lack of experience in the language and culture alike didn’t stop the brunet from being the kindest, sweetest person than most people in the world.

And it was the pitched, innocent tone in the studious boy’s voice that Yifan wanted to turn into small gasps, broken moans, and whimpers for more.

--

Chanyeol had a really hard time getting his attention.

As soon as he walked into the lecture hall on the first day of class, his eyes landed on him- the cute brunet with an indented smile, making a beeline to the front of the class and sitting right smack in the middle of the row.

After Chanyeol decided that he had the most angelic face he had ever laid his eyes upon he promptly followed him, sitting down a row behind him, two seats to the right.

He then waited an appropriate amount of time of seventeen seconds before leaning forward to tap him on the shoulder- but something pulled him back. He wasn’t even quite sure what it was, seeing as he was never the kind to shy away from people. But as he extended a hand to tap him, his face grew unusually hot at the idea of this beauty turning to look at him.

Before anyone could notice he quickly pulled his hand back, silently praying that instead he’d turn around, notice him and introduce himself.

He didn’t.

The entire time during the lecture, the boy (who he quickly found was Chinese, by the name scrawled on his notebook and how half of his notes were in the foreign language) was either looking at his notebook, the board, or the professor. Not once did his eyes stray to the side, or the clock, like Chanyeol’s did every four minutes.

Whenever he raised his hand to ask questions, when others would snicker to themselves at his accent (cough, cough, Baekhyun, Chanyeol thought to himself), Chanyeol couldn’t help but find it incredibly adorable and endearing. Just everything about him- how his shoulders were narrower than Chanyeol’s, how his thin stature was clearly smaller than Chanyeol’s, how his eyes shone with curiosity and innocence- did things to his heart.

Chanyeol decided that he really wanted to protect that innocence. And he wouldn’t let anyone stop him from doing that.

--

Yixing’s never had a boyfriend before. And quite frankly, he didn’t want one.

His parents spent their hard-earned money for him to go to this university and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t graduate at the top of the class. Top of the class means good grades. Good grades means hard work. Hard works means no distractions. And no distractions means no boyfriends.

(Of course, aside from the boy from the post-high school graduate party last June. But that wasn’t as much as a relationship as it was a twenty minute make-out session in a closet.)

He needs to work hard so he can be the best. Or among the best. He needs to work hard so he can be proud of himself for once in his life.

It’s not like he’s never been asked out before. For some reason unknown to Yixing, he was actually asked out quite a lot, guys and girls alike. The latter of course were turned down each time, but the difference hardly mattered when he did the same to the former.

Yixing had no problem whatsoever with not having a boyfriend and he wouldn’t have a problem with it for a while. Seeing as it was his first year of college, he already had enough stress to balance.

It’s not that he was scared or anything. In all honesty he was looking forward to the day where he’d wake up and find himself curled up next to someone in bed.

It’s just that that fairy-tale scene can’t happen for a while.