Sehun groans as he tosses his old Bleach manga onto his pillow and rolls out of bed at the sound of knocking.

“Shut up. I’m coming,” he yells at the second series of knocks as he grips onto the doorknob and yanks the door open. The scowl on his face drops into an uncharacteristic gape of surprise at his visitor. “How did you find out where I live?”

Jongin laughs and the both of them notice its awkward chime. “Hey.”

Sehun slides his tongue over his lips and clamps them shut in a frown. “No, seriously, how did you find out where I live?” He could shut the door and pretend these past thirty seconds never happened but a part of him is curious. If Jongin put in the effort to somehow track down his dorm and then get this far into the building, then he must have a reason for coming. Or rather, he better have a reason for coming.

“Did you know our moms are still friends?” Jongin answers randomly. He has the nerve to sport a shy smile as if he’s ashamed or something and Sehun balls a fist with his free hand.

“You asked my mom,” Sehun deadpans.

Jongin raises an eyebrow. “Not exactly. I—”

“What do you want, Jongin?” Sehun deflates, already exhausted by this short exchange. All he wanted to do today was procrastinate on his homework by drowning himself in manga and maybe prank call Baekhyun on the dorm phone but instead he ends up with this bull.

“What do you mean ‘what do I want’? I thought we were cool now.”

Oh, yes, because Sehun allowed himself to be dragged to a chicken restaurant and watched Jongin decide if he wanted honey barbeque wings or hot wings before ditching they’re cool now. Sehun almost rolls his eyes but he can’t find the energy to do much else other than blankly stare at his ex. He slides his hand up the door to the knob and grabs it. “Please fall down the stairs and crack your head open so you forget where I live and never come back. Thanks.” He swings the door shut but Jongin sticks his foot between the door and the frame.

“Sehun, wait! I really think we need to talk about what happened between us.”

Sehun scoffs. “ yourself with a cactus.”

Jongin heaves a sigh. “Sehun, I’m sorry. I know I’ve been a pretty ty person but I’m trying to be better.”

Sehun doesn’t know why he does it — maybe this is his good deed for the year, maybe he’s hallucinating that he can hear actual sincerity in Jongin’s voice — but he opens the door again. “Next thing you know you’ll be saying you’re gonna donate to charity.”

“I’m gonna donate to charity,” Jongin announces, voice level.

Sehun actually rolls his eyes this time.

They end up sharing a sausage pizza at an ‘Italian’ place on the outskirts of campus. Sehun tries to tell himself that he’s only there for the pizza, and for the most part it’s the truth, but a nanoscopic part of himself wants to know what bull will come out of Jongin’s mouth about their former relationship.

He really likes the pizza at this place; it’s more authentic than the pizza they make at the fast food pizza chains taken from the States. He rips a slice from the pie, slaps it on his plate, and reaches for the round, glass shaker of parmesan cheese.

Glancing up when Jongin makes a sound in the back of his throat, he narrows his eyes. “What?”

Jongin raises a brow and sends a meaningful look at Sehun’s plate. “Do you need any more cheese?’

Sehun pauses in his shaking of the cheese dispenser for a second before continuing. “Yeah,” he says, mentally daring the older boy to say something else about his cheese habits. Slamming the shaker down when he’s satisfied with the small mountain of grated cheese atop his pizza, he plants his elbow on the small table between them and rests his chin in his palm. “You wanted to talk so talk.”

“Eat first. Relax. We have plenty of time, Hun,” Jongin says, taking his own slice of pizza and biting into it.

“I have plenty of time, yes, but you have about five minutes before I find something better to do with my time.” Sehun boredly picks off a small piece of sausage and pops it into his mouth.

Sighing, Jongin leans into the hard cushion and fits his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt. “I know I sort of ed you over.”

“Sort of,” Sehun emphasizes. ‘Sort of’ is the biggest understatement of the millennium.

Jongin frowns. “I didn’t do it because I didn’t want you to get in.” He shrugs. “But just look at it as a favor; you wouldn’t have liked the Institute anyway. Too many conceited, over-confident bastards.”

Sehun almost laughs but doesn’t. “I would have liked to be able to decide that for myself.” He picks up his pizza slice, unable to continue staring Jongin down while ignoring his hunger, before something hits him and he narrows his eyes. “What do you mean you didn’t do it because you didn’t want me to get in? Why the hell else could you have done it?”

Jongin’s sits up, his relaxed countenance replaced with an uncomfortable tug at his earlobe. “I, uh, wanted to break up.”

“You wanted…to break up,” Sehun repeats monotonously.

Pressing his lips together, Jongin nods. “Yeah.”

Tonguing the inside of his cheek as he decides how to properly respond to Jongin’s stupid, Sehun nods as well. And then he snaps. “Why the didn’t you just say so?! How ing hard is it to say ‘hey, I’m sorry, Sehun, but I think we should break up’?”

“I didn’t think you’d take it well. I was sort of interested in someone else who went to the Institute and I thought…I don’t know what I thought.”

“So ing over my college career was the better alternative?! Jongin, I knew you were an idiot but—” Sehun stops himself before he really lets his anger get the better of him and makes more of a scene than they’re already making. Covering his mouth with a fist, he takes a deep breath, trying to get rid of the enraged buzz beneath his skin.

“I’m so sorry, Sehun. I swear,” Jongin apologizes but Sehun barely hears him.

When he finally calms down enough to not yell, Sehun looks Jongin square in the eye. “You’re a wad. I hope you know you’re a wad.”

“I know I’m a wad.”

“Good,” Sehun chirps with a hate-filled smile. Standing, he leans over the table. “I’m willing to start completely over and pretend like we never happened since you’re so sorry,” he mocks before deepening his voice, “but I swear to ing God the next time you cross me over some dumb you’re dead, Kim Jongin.”

He doesn’t spare Jongin another glance as he tosses his untouched slice back onto the barely eaten large pizza and snatches the serving plate off the table to take it up to the counter to have it boxed. He’s going to spend the rest of the night cursing Jongin’s incredible amount of stupid, procrastinating on his homework and hopefully Byungjoo’s in their dorm room so Sehun can throw sausages at him until his ugly little face turns pink.

It’s been five days since Lu Han sat with Minseok, blueberry cream cheese bagels and warm sweetened tea in front of them, and listened as Minseok explained the basics of his life and his disorder. Honestly, even now he barely understands, but he couldn’t focus on much else other than Minseok’s red rimmed eyes and the way he sniffled in between words, feeling like an idiot the entire time for getting mad in the first place. It’s not like he didn’t understand why Minseok wouldn’t bring up his disorder or his (the other one’s (?)) relationships because he did. But for some reason, maybe because he couldn’t handle the initial surprise, his confusion and stress wrongfully manifested into mild anger.

It’s been five days and he hasn’t spoken to Minseok since then which is probably for the best since he doesn’t know what to say, if there is something special he needs to say at all. (There probably isn’t). The downside to having a semi-crush on Minseok, though, is that he’s always on his mind and he has a crazy stupid extreme desire to see him.

Sighing heavily, Lu Han throws himself back into his chair, causing it to tip precariously before returning to equilibrium. He drags his hands down his face with a groan. He’s never going to finish his paper like this. He may as well drop out of college, become a cashier at McDonalds, and sing on the side of the street in his free time. Just as he’s about to vow himself to a life of grease and suspicious hamburger patties, his phone chimes. He peeks through his fingers at the device vibrating face-down on his desk. Reaching for it, he flips it over and blinks stupidly at the name shown. Swiping his finger across the screen, he picks up the call and brings the phone to his ear.

“Hey,” he greets, sounding stupidly breathless and lovestruck.

“Are you free to grab coffee or something?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Lu Han agrees, unsure if he should be excited Minseok wants to see him or anxious because this is the first time he’s heard from the little bun in a week. “I don’t really have anything important to do.” Except a fifteen page paper that’s due in three days.

Minseok hums thoughtfully. “Meet me at the Starbucks around your place in thirty?”

“You don’t have to come all the way here. I could go closer to downtown.”

“No…” Lu Han can almost hear him shaking his head. “I don’t want to be in a place where I have a greater chance of running into someone I know.”

Lu Han makes a face at the now black screen of his laptop. “That’s suspicious.”

“Well, we all know that I’m just full of secrets and can’t be trusted.”

Lu Han sighs through his nose but he knows he deserves the guilt trip Minseok’s putting him through. “I’m sorry.”

Minseok hums again. “I’ll see you in a half hour, Han.”

They exchange goodbyes and Lu Han lazily tosses his phone back onto his desk. Slamming his laptop closed, he gets up from his desk and walks to his bed to drop onto it face first. His bedspread smells a little ripe — when was the last time he washed his linens — and he rolls onto his back to stare at the ceiling.

Why is his life so dramatic all of a sudden? The guy he’s crushing on is mentally ill (not that there’s anything wrong with that) and probably dating a sociopath, his friends have some weird love-hate relationship going on, and Yixing is suddenly Yoda. When did he step into a cliché drama? Which one of them is going to get hit by a car and die just so everyone else can have a happy ending? He’s supposed to live a carefree life; he’s Lu Han — the Chinese airhead who came to Korea to study because his parents don’t care what he does with his life as long as he’s not peddling for money, who is miraculously late for every class and who doesn’t know the meaning of personal boundaries. He doesn’t know how to handle stress, that’s why he got mad at Minseok in the first place. Can’t he skip fourteen episodes and go straight to the part where he and Minseok confess their love for one another, kiss, and walk hand and hand into the sunset?

Sitting up with a sigh, Lu Han decides to get ready to meet with Minseok in twenty minutes. He can’t leave the house in only his boxers and a university hoodie.

When he pushes open the door to Starbucks with five minutes left before their meeting time, Minseok is already there, staring up at the menu board.

“I didn’t think you would get here before me,” Lu Han says as he approaches the other man. He takes a look at the time on his phone. “I am on time, right?”

“I was already on my way here when I called,” Minseok explains. “Should I get a chai tea latte or hot chocolate?”

Lu Han stuffs his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. He finally turns his attention from Minseok to search the menu for a suitable drink as well. “Go for the latte. Starbucks doesn’t put marshmallows in their hot chocolate.”

Minseok snorts. “Only you would care about marshmallows.”

Lu Han looks down at Minseok again, mildly offended. “Uh, no, true hot chocolate lovers care about marshmallows too.”

Shaking his head, Minseok steps into line behind three others.

Lu Han chews on the inside of his cheek, suddenly unsure of what to say. Their banter is just as playful as it usually is and Lu Han wonders if the tension he’s feeling is one-sided. They talked through all of their misunderstandings last week, right? Maybe he’s thinking too much, still a little disappointed in himself for how he treated Minseok.

He sends glances Minseok's way out of the corner of his eyes, unable to miss the way the small man wrings his shirt in his hands, a habit Lu Han hasn't seen him do in a while. He thinks back to their conversation, remembering Minseok's words of not wanting to be recognized and he frowns. "Are you—"

"I'm sorry," the tiny bun starts just before he steps up to the register to order his latte.

Lu Han watches his back, taking in the stiffness of his shoulders visible even through the fabric of his pale blue pullover. Why is he apologizing?

The other man moves down the counter to wait for his drink without sparing Lu Han as much as a short glance. Sighing, the Chinese man approaches the counter. The boy working the register smiles at him, the usual routine. He orders hot chocolate despite his earlier complaints about the lack of marshmallows and two banana nut muffins. With his receipt in hand, he joins the still waiting Minseok and they watch the only other person behind the counter rush around in silence until Minseok clears his throat.

"I'm sorry," he repeats. "Everything is all my fault."

"What." Lu Han raises a brow and thins his lips. What’s his fault? He opens his mouth to ask that exact question before something clicks. "X-Xiumin?" he asks hesitantly, unsure if that was even the other one's name.

The man making their drinks calls out Xiumin’s latte and he walks up to take it with a polite smile. Returning to Lu Han's side, he finally looks at him. He's sort of adorable, gnawing on his bottom lip with worry like that. "I didn’t mean to switch but I thought I'd try to apologize before Minseok comes back." He glances down and abruptly releases his sweater, not having noticed he was balling his hand in it again.

"You don't need to—" Lu Han's hot chocolate is called and he smiles awkwardly before going to get it and his muffins. He turns around to the shorter man moving his Styrofoam cup away from his mouth and staring at it with distaste. "Do you not like it?"

"I was gonna get hot chocolate because you told me not to."

Minseok, Lu Han catches on faster than the last time. He frowns because he doesn't know what else to do. It's disorienting how they do that without a sign. How many times has he been talking to Xiumin and thinking he was still with Minseok? "I got it if you want some," he says slowly.

Minseok's eyes flitter between his face and the cup in his hand. "Maybe later." He motions toward the exit. "I thought we could go to that playground near your place."

Nodding, Han follows the other out, settling beside him once they're outside and waking back to his apartment.

They don’t talk about Xiumin’s brief appearance — Lu Han wouldn’t know what to say anyway and even if everything is okay between he and Minseok, the subject of his illness still seems a little touchy — and their walk to the playground is silent save for Minseok’s absentminded humming of a song Lu Han doesn’t recognize but assumes is from a musical score. The late spring season is still cool enough for the hot drink in his hands to not feel like a mistake but warm enough for sweat to form on the back of his neck beneath his pullover. And though he’s uncomfortable and buzzing with nerves, between Minseok’s humming and the way he sighs after every taste of his latte, Lu Han is distracted enough for the distance home to feel twice as short.

Despite the existence of a playground, there aren’t many families with kids in the apartment complexes nearby, just undergrads like Lu Han and recent graduates. When they get arrive at the small collection of play equipment, there are two girls no older than ten on the swings but neither pairs acknowledge the other.

Once they seat themselves on the wooden platform one level lower than the slide, Lu Han sits his drink off to the side, pops open his box of muffins and takes one out to give to Minseok. He declines and says he’s not hungry but takes it anyway, a soft smile lighting up his cute face. Lu Han leaves his in the box for the moment, waiting until he finishes his probably now lukewarm hot chocolate.

Minseok peels the paper cup at the base of the muffin away and rips off a chunk. “About why I called you out here…Remember how I went for an audition?” Minseok pops the chunk into his mouth before shifting enough to dig a folded envelope out of his pocket.

Lu Han blinks stupidly when Minseok hands it to him.

“I’m too scared to read it myself and since you’re the only person I know who doesn’t regularly encounter Xiumin, I know he won’t learn about the results.”

Turning the envelope over in his hands, Lu Han shoves his finger beneath the sealed flap to open it. “Why don’t you want him to know?”

“Because I technically shouldn’t have auditioned in the first place. I’m just a manifestation of Xiumin’s mental instability and who knows, I may just disappear one day,” Minseok sighs. “Xiumin doesn’t even want to act like I do. He wants to be a prop master.”

Ignoring the possibility of Minseok leaving, Lu Han hums as he pulls the single sheet of folded paper out and begins to read. “Then why’d you do it?”

Minseok shrugs and takes another bite of the muffin. “I’m tired of having to give up everything I want.”

Glancing at the theatre student beside him with a small smile, Lu Han clears his throat. “We are pleased with your interest in becoming a part of the Savage Stage Thesbians family and a—”

“Wait! Are you reading it?! You didn’t even give me time to mentally prepare!” Minseok covers his left ear with his free hand.

Chuckling under his breath, Lu Han grabs Minseok’s left hand and pulls it away from his ear. “And after careful deliberation of the many auditions we have had, we would like to congratulate you as the newest addition to the troupe.” He drops the paper in his lap and looks at the older man. “Congrats.”

Staring in the direction of the occupied swings, Minseok blinks. All of a sudden he draws in a quick breath and snatches the paper off of Lu Han’s legs, dropping the barely eaten muffin in the process, to scan through the words himself.

Lu Han frowns at the sweet bread rendered inedible. “You just wasted a perfectly goo—” His mouth snaps shut when tiny hands cup his cheeks and before he has the chance to question it Minseok draws him in for a kiss that’s over as quick as it began.

The older student rereads through the acceptance a second time, a broad grin on his face. “I can’t believe I actually got in! I mean, I think I’m a pretty decent actor if I do say so myself but I just…This troupe is amazing like…Han, I got in.” Crinkling the paper from how tight he’s clutching it, Minseok practically bounces with excitement as he looks at Lu Han. There is happiness written all over his face, in the curve of his lips and in the way his eyes seem to twinkle like decorative lights on Christmas Day.

Lu Han gets the kiss was an absentminded expression of his joy but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t replace every intelligent thought in his brain with looping repeats of it. He’s reminded of the other small kisses they’ve shared — more than ‘just friends’ should have — and suddenly they’re not enough.

He and Minseok have been teasing something more than a platonic friendship for months now, the progress of their evolving friendship hindered by their own worries of it not working out for various reasons. And if Minseok said himself that he’s tired of having to give up what he wants, Lu Han doesn’t see why he shouldn’t go after what he wants either.

Placing his hand over Minseok’s, Lu Han smiles slightly when Minseok’s elation turns into a mix of confusion and curiosity. “You don’t realize what you just did, do you?” he asks, voice low but not quite a whisper.

Minseok makes a confused noise and averts his gaze to sky as he thinks and Lu Han can pinpoint the exact moment his mind catches up to his happiness-induced, absentminded kiss, his eyes widening and face flushing. He opens his mouth but after five seconds of trying to form an excuse, he gives up and bites his lip.

With his free hand, Lu Han spreads his fingers across Minseok’s cheek and slowly drags his bottom lip from under his teeth with his thumb. “It’s not fair, you know. You always kiss me but I never get to return the favor.”

“Then shut up and do it,” Minseok mumbles under his breath.

“No, I have to play hard to get like you di—”

Minseok pulls him down by the neck none too gently and Lu Han laughs against his lips before he properly fits their mouths together but it’s perfect from start to finish either way.

Yifan wipes his hands down the front of his overalls, leaving streaks of black running down the dark blue denim. Brushing his hair out of his face and dabbing away at his sweat with his forearm, he drops the hood of the car with more force than necessary, the bang attracting the looks of the few others loitering around. He's been on edge all day, for the past few days actually, all because of that brat Minseok. He hasn't seen Xiumin all week, something that's beginning to seem like the norm, and he's not quite sure how to handle that. Minseok was never fooled by his smiles or his sweet words; he's not weak and impressionable like Xiumin and trying to intimidate him just doesn't give off the same high. Yifan needs his spineless little boyfriend to keep him sane, needs to see his cute face, needs to reassure himself that Xiumin won't ever leave him. And knowing that Minseok hates him, knowing Minseok will do anything to get away from him, knowing Minseok knows Xiumin's too brainwashed to ever think of leaving, Yifan doesn't know what to think about Minseok's constant presence. And who knows what he would do if Xiumin ever left.

But he does know he won't let Minseok destroy the relationship he's taken years to build to perfection.

Even if that means he has to ruin it in the process.