EXT. CAMPUS TRACK. THURSDAY. MORNING.

For some reason, early morning is always hauntingly beautiful - the lush quiet of dawn, the softest gradient of sighs in every breeze, every thought, every breath. All these, poised against the usual charade of enthusiasm and purpose as students commute to and fro classes, become increasingly coveted as schedules and routine take their toll. Seungcheol treads carefully on the tracks, watching as the track is stripped bare of its usual stark vibrance, and instead peacefully composed by shadows. 

Briefly, he wonders if he should postpone his morning run till the sunrise. Seungcheol inhales, and again, and lets the sheer wonder of solitude overcome his chest - for some reason, the thought of the mysterious art student from Monday drifts into his mind, a fitting figure in this soft gloom.

In a hopeful-hopeless moment, he lets his eyes wander, seeing only shadows. Of course - he'd be an idiot to expect to see him here, now of all times. Seungcheol stretches, and readies himself for a jog. He'll take it easy today - the week so far has been nothing but foreign territory; attractive people, vending machines, mismatched first aid and whatnot. Seungcheol's mulling over a possible third crush in this strangely structured week when he hears a sigh.

Maybe the ghost from the art block decided to hunt him down.

Seungcheol glances around again, and this time picks out a black lump huddled weirdly on the terraces. Heck, at least if he dies he won't need to pay his tuition. So Seungcheol, for all his stealth, walks over. When his eyes adjust to the contours of the figure, he picks out a formless, hooded person hugging their knees to their chest.

"Hey," Seungcheol says, and settles down next to the heaving stranger.

Either he's in for another meet cute, or he's really pushing it with the devil here. 

The person doesn't look up. Seungcheol keeps his distance, but the homey, cottony smell reminds him of 'Man Crush Monday', as Wonwoo quips. Seungcheol glances over, trying not to cross any polite boundaries as a stranger. And even if they're the art student from Monday, Seungcheol still is a stranger after all. The stranger hiccups, and Seungcheol realises that they're trying to control their breathing. The calligraphy on the back of the hoodie spells "Seoul". Homesick, then. 

Carefully, Seungcheol says, "I'll sit with you if you want."

Finally, a pair of puffy eyes peek out from a mountain of fabric. "Seungcheol?"

It's him. Seungcheol smiles warmly. "Yeah."

The art student holds his breath, and his folded arms tense. "Oh. I'm sorry. I-"

Seungcheol shakes his head lightly, "No, it's fine. Do you want me to leave?"

"No. I-" he chews on his lip. "Can I hold your hand?"

Seungcheol offers his hand, and watches adoringly as slender, pale fingers peek out from oversized sleeves to hold onto his rough, callused ones. Briefly, Seungcheol's heart sings out an achingly sweet tune. He rubs a thumb over the art student's knuckles, cautious and wanting. The art student leans against him, and presses up against his well-worn windbreaker in response. Seungcheol could die right now. But that's not important, because someone's upset, and Seungcheol's first priority is to make sure they feels better. They sit in comfortable silence, and Seungcheol instinctively wraps an arm around the art student's shoulders.

"I'm sorry you had to see me like this," the art student begins to say, and shushes Seungcheol's reassuring reply. "I'm just. College is really a pain. Everything is so- isolated and so... cold? I just. I wonder if this is the right choice. Coming here. If I should be here."

Seungcheol listens. 

"It's... so hard. And even though it's only the s-second term, I kind of miss home. A lot. My cat probably doesn't miss me. That heartless creature," the art student giggles, and peeks at him. "What about you?"

"I... I honestly don't know," Seungcheol says. This shouldn't be about him.

As though reading his mind, the other prompts, "It's okay."

Seungcheol playfully pokes him back. "Who's comforting who now?"

The act draws another giggle from the art student huddled in his arms, and Seungcheol wants to hear that again - for some reason he doesn't think he'll mind even if it becomes his alarm track. The goregous face, or at least the silver of what's visible, peers up into his. The wetness of his eyes compel Seungcheol into talking. 

Seungcheol sighs, "Well... honesty hour, right?"

"Only with you," the art student murmurs. 

It's probably a teasing remark, but Seungcheol can feel the butterflies in his stomach now. "I don't think I should be doing Physics. It's not something I hate - quantum is pretty amazing. But it's not what feels right. I don't even know what a Physics degree does."

"What do you want?" 

Seungcheol frowns. He's never really considered that question. "I really like sports."

"There," the art student says simply, and Seungcheol feels something fit into place.

A cool thumb starts tracing over Seungcheol's knuckles instead, examining the curve of each finger with utmost care. Seungcheol thinks he might just die from this closeness, this tender touch. But more than that, it feels like someone's cut through all the fog and recognised what it is that Seungcheol's been trying to ask himself all this while.

The art student continues, "Thank you."

"No, thank you," Seungcheol says, and smiles into the crown of the other's hair.

The art student falls quiet then, pliant and soft in Seungcheol's arms. He squeezes Seungcheol's hand. Seungcheol hums lowly, and rubs circles on his shoulder. While they sit, a strange, utterly coincidental tangle of companionship, Seungcheol watches the dark canvas above them dim even more, before a warm glow spills from behind the trees. Their shared moment is abruptly doused in golden, and the art student awkwardly pulls away in light of other pressing academic obligations. He does, however, hold Seungcheol's hand for a moment longer.

"I really - you're really. Nice. Thank you," the art student says, brown eyes glittering in this newly cast sunrise.

"Hey, I know this is stupid, but what's your name?" Seungcheol asks quickly, wincing at his own voice. 

The art student, raises an eyebrow, but says, "It's Jeonghan, dummy."

"Jeonghan," Seungcheol echoes, and watches Jeonghan's eyes light up, his cheeks dusted by the lightest of pinks.

"Thank you," Jeonghan says again, "for listening. It's - I don't do this often."

Seungcheol doesn't get to ask what 'this' refers to, not when Jeonghan quickly darts forward and presses his lips against Seungcheol's forehead. Jeonghan squeezes Seungcheol's hand once more, and flees through the pathway leading to the quadrangle. Seungcheol is officially deceased.

INT. NONDESCRIPT HALLWAY. THURSDAY. AFTERNOON.

"Really?" Mingyu pesters, his arm digging into Seungcheol's neck. "Really? Really? So you found him again? And you got his name?"

Seungcheol guiltily nods, and presses a palm over Mingyu's excited yelp. "Shhh. It was. It sounds really intense, but."

There are stars in Mingyu's eyes now - it's Seungcheol's fault for creating more drama for this romantic to feed on. Mingyu pulls Seungcheol's hand away, and swoons dramatically. Seungcheol adjusts the strap of his messenger bag, hyper-aware of the lingering warmth where Jeonghan held his hand, and squeezed it, and kissed his forehead -

"Scoups, you okay? You're blushing," Mingyu says, and then adds slyly, "So was it intense?"

Seungcheol hits him on the arm. "Yah! We didn't do anything!"

Mingyu, infuriatingly, quite understandably, nods placatingly. "Right, of course."

But what can Seungcheol say? In retrospect, from an objective third person's perspective, that morning's moment of intimacy does sound too compressed and surreal. If it were a hookup, at least one could explain it away as temporary, or some biological function resulting from stress. A neurochemical con job, in essence. But what happened felt too familiar and vulnerable to be just that - there's just something drawing him to Jeonghan. 

Not like it really means anything; for all Seungcheol knows, Jeonghan might just be another Mingyu - a case of clicking well together, platonically. That, and the fact that he's sure they're just playing house in a home away from home. Coincidences. 

Seungcheol swallows, and changes the topic to something less hopeful, and more certain. Like Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle.