Ten breathed in, and breathed out. 

Two years.

He breathed in again. Breathed out again. Was it a meditative breathing exercise, or anxiety-induced borderline hyperventilation? Who knows? Who cares? Ten sure didn't. 

"Two years," he whispered to himself, like a mantra. And it sure was. 

Orientations of any kind (except the ual ones) are in the top ten of Ten's least favorite things ever, but this specific one has got to take the cake. 

College kids, from an undercut having white boy in a suit who was definitely sniffing something white from inside his sleeve, to a girl with ratted hair who was actually asleep, filled the swiveling seats in a grim warehouse turned conference room, Neo Culture Technology's pathetic attempt at coolness. 

The millennial CEO prattled on in front of the makeshift stage with his too-good public speaking; looking Ten deep enough in the eyes each time his gaze came to his table that he was forced to pointedly stare at his docs to avoid vomiting. Despite the almost forty-five minutes he'd been talking, however, Ten still really wasn't quite sure exactly what Neo Culture Technology did. Seemed like they did a lot of things, though. What exactly, Ten wasn't sure. 

"Two years," he breathed out again. "Two years."

In an attempt to avoid the creeper CEO's gaze, Ten took a glance down at himself. His black velour blazer and hard metal necklace and chain (with charms of his big three signs, of course) stuck out like the hottest, iest thumb. 

Ten took a quick glance at the rest of the audience. He was definitely the coolest mother er in this place. 

Wait, , the CEO guy (what was his name?) looked at him again. Gross. 

Ten looked at his fingers, mentally approving the eight he decided to throw on this morning. He spun the cameo ring of a skull around his left-hand middle finger, the star tattoo underneath showing itself. 

"Two years," Ten repeated and sighed, slumping in his seat. 

The first thing that you should know about Ten is that he likes a challenge. Wild child Ten, with his clothes and tattoos and ability to continuously talk even though there's nothing to say, was given a challenge by his parents at the tender age of eighteen. 

It was four-pronged:

1. Get his undergrad in four years or less

2. Have a 3.0 average

3. Intern at a successful company for the final two years of his degree

4. Major in something useful

If Ten failed, he'd have to get a stable nine to fiver, or be cut off from his parents forever. If he succeeded, he could do whatever the he wanted once college was over, and his parents would support him in whatever he wanted to do. 

Despite everything in his body telling him not to do any of these things, Ten could never say no to a challenge. 

So...he was here. With a 3.1 average GPA, half a graphic design degree's worth of credits, in his junior year of college, at internship orientation for Neo Culture Technology. 

Two years. He'd just need to be here two years, get his degree, graduate, and then he was free. Free to give himself more star tattoos. Well, anything tattoos. And give them to other people too. 

The beauty, the pain, the permanence. Tattoo artistry was everything Ten had ever wanted out of life. And he was going to have it, and eat his cake too. He was. Just, two more years. 

Ten looked at his watch, a ty g-shock with a strap he painted himself. It's officially been an hour since mr. creepers CEO began talking, and Ten still doesn't know what this company actually does. 

And what he knows he's doing doesn't sound much like what this guy is talking about. 

Ten chuckled to himself. He's designing the outfits and aesthetics for a dress-up phone game. 

This guy is probably embarrassed about it. That's all Ten needs to realize to know that the game probably makes way more revenue than some of the fancy BS he's talking up a storm about. 

"Enough of my blabbing, everyone." 

Ten breaths out an audible sigh of relief. kid gives him a glare, and Ten glares right back. kid's friend turns to glare too, but they both stop. 

He's kinda cute. Huh. 

If he's friends with kid, he must be the worst, Ten thinks.

"Since you're all going to be spending the next few years working together, why don't you all get to know each other? My assistants have prepared some fun games for us all to meet each other." 

Ten wants to cry. Icebreakers.

The CEO's assistants, who somehow look even more miserable than Ten, begin handing out pieces of paper. The one who hands Ten his gives him a stank face so nasty that Ten loses all sympathy for them. Underneath his paper, Ten reaches for his phone. 

Save me, he texts the 'hot feighking betch' group chat.

sorry, wont go within ten feet of that place, Xiaojun answers. 

anyone cute? Yangyang adds. 

maybe? but hes sitting next to a business major in a suit doing coke

AVOID, Xiaojun types in all caps. 

AVOID

AVOID

AVOID

stop spamming dude! Yangyang answers.

but hes right

avoid

Ten does a little "breath out through his nose" laugh and locks his phone, sliding back into his pitch black pocket. He gives the dreaded paper a once over. 

He lets out an audible whine. It's one of those where there are random things a person could have done/be, stupid like "speaks more than three languages", and you have to find people to sign for each one who fit the bill. Ten signs the language one for himself just as the CEO says to start. 

As slowly as humanly possible, Ten gets up, his jewelry jangling, and shuffles around. Everyone's avoiding eye contact with him. Thank god. 

"Uh..." a voice emits from behind him, then a tap on the shoulder. 

Ten spins around and freezes. Friend of guy? Is talking to him?

"Please say you can mark off one of these," he groans. Ten looks him over: crisp, freshly ironed navy suit, hair slicked back just a bit with gel, the corner of a watch peeking out from under his sleeve. His shoes matched and he didn't smell like anything. Huh. 

"I've got you," Ten answers, taking the guy's paper and signing his name under the language one. "You?" 

He huffs and nods, signing the square on Ten's paper that says "Has been skydiving"

They make eye contact, gaze understanding. "I hate this ing ." 

The guy laughs, eyes sparkling. Ten feels disgusting when his heart skips, like, a quarter of a beat. Is he really that bored? This guy isn't even that cute. 

"Yeah, agreed. It's like...shouldn't they be teaching us how to actually do our jobs?" 

"Exactly! For real. When I don't know tomorrow, they better not blame me." 

He laughs again and makes no move to leave. Ten doesn't either. 

"What department are you working in?" 

"Mobile design. For the dress-up game. You?" 

"Oh, I'm gonna be in finance." 

Kinda ew, but whatever. Ten took a look around the room, grimaced, and stayed right where he was, sparing another glance at his paper. "Your name is Kun?" 

"Yes, that's me. Yours?" 

"Ten." 

"Nice to meet you," he spoke, smile genuine, and held out his hand. With a white person line smile Ten shook it. His grip was firm in a businessman sort of way. 

Kinda gross, kinda hot. 

"Uh...any other of these you could mark off?" Kun said, after a beat. "I don't really feel like finding anyone else." 

Ten smiled, genuinely, for the first time that day. "Sure." He picked up the paper again and looked it over. 

"Oh, this." He signed his name with a different signature on the sheet. Kun looked at it. 

"Was on a competitive team in high school? What did you play?" 

"Oh." Ten grinned. "I dance." 

Kun looked at the floor. "That's... really cool." 

"Alright everyone! Time to head back to your seats!" The CEO shouted above the din of students chatter. 

"It was nice to meet you, Ten." 

Hearing his own name out of Kun's lips felt...weird. "Nice to meet you too." 

"I hope I see you around." 

"Yeah. Me too," Ten answered. He, at least, new he was being honest. And by the look Kun gave him as he headed back to his seat, he thought he was too. 

The CEO began calling on people to tell the audience about who they found, and Ten whipped out his phone again. 

okay i talked w guys friend n hes rlly nice

don't trust it, Yangyang answered. 

TEN NO, Xiaojun wrote, in all caps. 

YOU CANT FIND A BOYFRIEND HERE

i mean ten's working at the place too, doesnt that make him a red flag then? Yangyang asked.

oh we already know ten's a walking red flag. but two red flags together doesnt make a green one, Xiaojun responded. 

Ten laughed to himself. That was for sure.