Umbrellas and Improv

Wonwoo has a lot of things going on in his life right now. For example, he has a cognitive systems midterm coming up in two days that he has yet to start studying for. There’s also a 3,000 word essay he has to complete on the philosophy of artificial intelligence by tonight; assigned at the beginning of the semester, but naturally, something he couldn’t be assed to do until now. Oh, and he has to present his final project for his robotics lab in fifteen minutes. He has no idea if his robot will even activate upon voice command. So far, it’s been a lottery with a 1-in-100 chance of winning.

He also hasn’t been able to grow a single hair on his face for no-shave November. Though if anyone asks, he’s not participating.

The point is, he really can’t deal with anything else being dumped on his plate right now. This of course, means it’s the perfect time for clouds to close over clear blue skies and the weather to transition from sun to a torrential downpour in two seconds flat.

Wonwoo swears, swinging his backpack off his shoulder and folding over it protectively—damn thing won’t zip and he can’t let his robot get wet—as he sprints for cover. He pulls his umbrella out of a sleeve and presses the release button. Nothing happens.

He fiddles with the catch, trying to slide it open by brute force. Then he gives it a few shakes. Still, it doesn’t extend.

“Sonuva, open,” Wonwoo hisses, halfway between angry and pleading. Ten minutes until he has to present in front of his instructor, and generally get dragged and have his ripped apart. His day has just started and he wants to go home already.

He’s reduced to the point where he’s swearing vengeance on his umbrella, like it had killed off his entire family or something equally bad. He swings it around because maybe the wind needs to hit it at the right angle? Maybe if he flicks his wrist with just the right amount of angular momentum, something will release?

There’s a polite cough behind him. “Hey, are you—”

Wonwoo turns around and at that exact moment, his umbrella decides to extend like a launched rocket, shooting out with enough force to leave Earth’s orbit. It hits someone right in the groin.

The man exhales an ‘Auh!’, like all the air’s been punched out of him and keels over, hands cradled to crotch.

“Oh, !” Wonwoo gasps, squatting down beside the man. “I’m so ing sorry, dude. I swear, I didn’t see you there.”

The man groans.

“You okay there? I didn’t mean to.” His voice is high with panic. He really has to go, but his mom didn’t raise him to be a hit-and-run sort of .

The man looks up at him then, eyes rimmed wet, a grimace screwing up handsome features.

Wonwoo makes a noise like he’s the one who took a hit to the .

Of course the man whose balls he had just smashed is Kim in’ Mingyu. The guy who’s the star of Saturday night Grad Improv, with his easy smiles, unrestrained laugh and special talent for making Wonwoo laugh so hard he damn near busts a nut. The same guy Wonwoo may or may not have been mooning over from his place in the audience.

This is not how he wanted to make his first impression.

“My balls,” Mingyu croaks, sounding wrecked. “I think you crushed them. I might be bleeding.”

“Are you ing serious? , dude. Move your hands. Let me see.” Wonwoo hasn’t even been able to work up the courage to say hi, but here he is, batting Mingyu’s hands away to take a look at the other’s crotch. “Uh, I think you’re okay? I mean, I don’t see any blood.” If he can’t see any blood, it means it’s not that bad, right? Wonwoo reaches out to touch Mingyu between the legs before thinking better of it and yanking his hand back. Heat floods his cheeks.

“I don’t know… I can’t feel anything. There’s definitely something wrong. Maybe you should take a look.”

Wonwoo’s heart rolls up high in his throat and he swallows it back down. This is bad. He’s been given permission to see Mingyu’s , but this is bad.

“Okay, yeah. I’ll do that,” Wonwoo breathes. “We should probably call for the ambulance, too.” His fingers tremble as he rests them at Mingyu’s waistband. Just to make sure this is okay one last time, he glances up at the other.

He finds Mingyu looking at him amusedly, lips curled over a straight row of teeth.

Wonwoo freezes. That’s not the look of an injured man.

“Damn, I almost got you there,” Mingyu says.

Wonwoo exhales in a rush. “Oh, you!” He pulls away immediately, hiding his face in his hands. “You’re terrible. I really thought…”

Mingyu laughs loudly. Wonwoo isn’t looking—can’t bring himself to look—but he knows Mingyu is a full-body laugher, with shaking shoulders and head thrown back to expose the length of his throat.

“It was an umbrella. Not a hammer.”

“Could have fooled me,” Wonwoo mutters. He rubs his cheeks up and down and drops his hands away in favour of glaring at the other man.

Mingyu spreads his arms wide, grin unfaltering. “What can I say? The whole world’s my stage. I take every opportunity I can to act.”

“I hate you,” Wonwoo grouses half-heartedly. He can’t even stay mad. Mingyu looks impossibly better up close, with his bright, almond-shaped eyes and angled cheekbones. Even his hair looks kitten-soft, though it’s been bleached grey to hell and back.

“Yeah? That’s why you keep coming to my shows every week, right?”

Mingyu’s noticed him? Oh. That makes him feel a little tingly. “Not anymore, I won’t.”

“Aw hey, don’t be like that. I looked forward to seeing you every Saturday.”

Wonwoo doesn’t want to take that the wrong way. If he shows up, it just means more money in Mingyu and the improv club’s pockets.

“Yeah, well. Whatever,” Wonwoo grumbles. “I have to go now. Got a presentation. Sorry again.” He stands up and dusts his pants off. Arm held protectively over his robot and piece of umbrella in his other hand, Wonwoo trudges away. He’s horribly late now.

“Hey! That did hurt a lot though,” Mingyu calls after him. Wonwoo pauses. “Maybe you could make it up to me with a drink. After Saturday’s show?”

Wonwoo continues walking. The corners of his mouth twitch upwards.