Chapter Text
Liu Yangyang has never considered himself a romantic. That being said, he thinks he might’ve fallen in love today.
“That’s...really dramatic, coming from you.” Guanheng blinks, and yeah, he’s probably right— but at the very least, Yangyang doesn’t think he’s ever felt this way before.
Yangyang’s just never been one to fall— fast, hard, or at all. He could only ever tolerate dating trials and tribulations of Guanheng and Ten (especially Ten) second-hand for the dramatics and how funny they usually were, but even then, the pure mush of it all just got to be way, way too much.
He’s never had much patience for the stuttering, red-faced and sweaty-palmed image of high school romance, as far back as he can remember. The one all his aunties and uncles would sigh wistfully over cigarette smoke and home-cooked meals during the holidays, the one that every friend and acquaintance of adolescent past jumped over and chased after, only to cry and curse it’s name the very next day—
“Do you have like...a complex or something?” Guanheng asked, cross-legged on Yangyang bed in their senior year of high school when Ten popped in suddenly, his head peering over Guanheng’s shoulder, right in Yangyang’s face, determined.
“Baby, are you afraid to fall in love?” Guanheng play-gasped at this accusation, but there was obvious curiosity in his eyes as well. Yangyang was unmoved.
“Honestly…I just think it’s corny.” Even when Ten smacked his shoulder in offense, Yangyang stayed firm in this belief— it was corny. But now, in his first year of university, it’s not.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s happening to me now.” Guanheng rolls his eyes. “Well, who is it?”
—
Earlier that morning, Yangyang’s dorm roommate Kun had asked him if he wanted to accompany him to the Music and Performing Arts Center.
Yangyang had no real business there being there that day— or any day at all, being a Biochemistry major— but the invitation was an obvious bonding attempt on Kun’s part that flattered Yangyang a little, so he said yes. Kun was a little older than him, super nice, and easy to tease— so maybe there was the slightest bit of guilt there too. Either way, it could be fun to see a new side of his roommate, in a major so far removed from his own.
The center was modest in size, but lively in mood and sound. The grand piano seated by the center of Kun’s Monday class was massive compared to Kun’s little keyboard in the dorm, and Yangyang was thoroughly enjoying Kun’s practice performance before Kun was pulled, a well-meaning professor popping up from behind with impromptu notes.
“I’ll just be a minute.” Kun smiled apologetically. Yangyang was more than fine with the distraction, roaming the hallways of the center, reminiscing over violin lessons he didn’t appreciate enough as a kid. It was nice to be surrounded by another craft for once. One with nothing close to cellular respiration or math. A novel mix of the sensations of a new environment mixed with fresh nostalgia. It could have been just that, aimless wandering, lost in something close to romantic thoughts, that led down past a corner and peaked his ears towards a door cracked half-open at the turn, a soft and melodic sound coming through.
Through the crack, from the corner of his eyes, Yangyang found someone there, sitting alone in a modest-sized, empty auditorium, a near copy of the other room, sunlight cutting across worn linoleum like a knife. Dark hair, plain t-shirt and jeans, probably about Yangyang’s age, and just turned towards Yangyang’s view, maybe one of the most beautiful sounds Yangyang thinks he ever encountered— soulful and powerful, a voice shot straight towards something, straight though his chest.
Yangyang’s never thought much at all of poetic beauty, or sweet nothings— even those godawful sap-fest songs Ten puts on their shared Spotify playlist. Whoever this someone was, sitting alone in this room in front him, clearly did, and they sang every every word like he meant it— whatever it was he was even actually singing— Cantonese? — and when the song came to its slow, careful end, and dark, soulful eyes opened just as slowly to meet his own—
—
Yangyang blinks. “I didn’t get his name.”
Guanheng stares. “I...left.”
“You ran.” Guanheng finishes. For once in his life, Yangyang has nothing to say— nothing he could say.
“Huh. I guess I actually do believe you. Holy shit.” Guanheng throws his head back then, in what’s almost a cackle. “Wait ‘till Ten hears about this, oh my God.”
—
It took all of Yangyang’s strength, willpower, charm and $30 to get Guanheng to keep quiet about Yangyang’s little crush.
A crush, by the way, he had no intention of acting upon— the fact that he didn’t even know mystery boy’s name made him realize that maybe he was being a little dramatic. As well established, to himself and everyone he knows, Yangyang does not fall so easily, and never at first sight— the one concept of love and romance Yangyang couldn’t even attempt to wrap his head around or hide his disdain for, almost fighting it out on principle with Ten in the tenth grade, all over Yangyang rolling his eyes at the idea of Johnny Suh from the bus stop being The One, the literal first day of school.
No, Yangyang has no real patience for crushes and delusions of love at first sight. What he does have a lot of patience for is beautiful, mysterious strangers with killer voices, and spending quality time with his nice and chill roommate, so if he’s able to kill two birds with one stone by accompanying Kun again to the Music and Performing Arts center, then so be it. Quick maths.
(Guanheng rolled his eyes and bought his lunch with half of Yangyang’s $30.)
And it’s definitely not weird at all to be peering through the cracked open door in the hallway while Kun is chatting with his professor in the classroom, but just in case, Yangyang’s sitting on the floor, his phone plugged into the outlet next to the door.
Mystery boy is nearby today, in the same hallway, maybe a room or two down— singing another song Yangyang doesn’t recognize today. Yangyang doesn’t speak Cantonese, and he doesn’t come across it often. He thinks he can understand everything almost perfectly anyway, just from how it sounds, sung through another cracked door— pure passion and sorrow and immaculate technique.
It has Yangyang think back to lifelong idols in almost everything he loves dearly— basketball, music, fashion, everything in between— and it’s perhaps the closest he could come to what could be called a crush. Pure admiration of anyone clearly on top of their craft.
Mystery boy has his down pat, going through key changes as effortless as breathing. The sort of power behind every note that Yangyang knows has to be from somewhere deep down in his own chest, no way you could teach someone this kind of soul or—
“Yangyang?” He flinches hard, his phone yanked hard and flung across the hall— of course.
“You done?” Yangyang whips his head towards Kun, Kun’s eyes currently flitting between Yangyang and his chucked phone, mildly amused, mostly confused.
“Ah well, almost.” Kun reaches over, Yangyang’s phone in hand. “I actually just have to speak to my project partner for a second. Is that okay? I can buy you lunch right after this, sorry for all the stalling.”
“Yeah dude, of course.” Yangyang is a little grateful for the distraction, since he was definitely getting way too deep into whatever the Hell he was waxing poetic about just before he nearly decimated his phone.
He’s maybe just a little relieved as well— that same internal monologue’s revealed to him that this is not, in fact, a crush, but instead simple appreciation and admiration of an amazing singer— like, really amazing, holy fuck— he happened to stumble upon.
An admittedly intense appreciation that almost tricked Yangyang’s brain chemicals for a cool minute into thinking—
“Awesome.” Kun smiles and swings open the door in front of them wide open, and Yangyang almost chokes on nothing when the singer in question turns over his shoulder to look at them both. And yeah, it really couldn’t be enough for mystery boy to possess this ethereal voice— he just had to be stupid good-looking too. Sharp cheekbones, sharp eyes that consider Kun first before flicking over to Yangyang, dark— expressionless. Yangyang swallows.
“Sorry to interrupt.” Kun smiles again, completely unfazed. Mystery boy nods and accepts Kun’s little bro-handshake, before looking back at Yangyang again, face maybe expressing a little something now— a quirk of an eyebrow so quick, it could’ve been a twitch. Annoyance? Yangyang settles for confusion instead, so he won’t combust right in that spot.
“Er, I’m Kun’s roommate. Yangyang. I’m Yangyang.” His smile is nice and friendly (hopefully). Mystery boy’s eyes shift slightly then, another motion so quick, Yangyang could’ve just imagined it— up and down, almost as if he were sizing Yangyang up. Kind of rude, honestly, but Yangyang stiffens that much more under his piercing gaze— God, what the fuck is my problem.
“Xiao Dejun.” Even the way he introduces himself is cool. Fuck.
“Are you okay with meeting Fridays?” Kun asks, blissfully oblivious to Yangyang’s crisis. Mystery boy— Dejun — turns his attention back to Kun with a small smile and nod. Just a touch softer than his expression. Like, barely.
“Fridays?” Yangyang blurts out, and just like that, Dejun’s eyes are back on him, shit.
“We’re working on a song together for class. First project of the semester.” Kun smiles like it’s something to look forward to, a small shake to Dejun’s shoulder to spread the good cheer. It’s unfortunately a little lost on Yangyang at the moment. “I just knew I had to ask after I heard him sing that last class— you should really hear him, Yangyang.”
Yangyang’s head whips fast, too fast to the side, in an ill-advised attempt to not be too obvious. It doesn’t matter too much either way, because his cursed nervous habit of talking way too fucking much when he’s nervous renders it all useless anyway.
“I have— or I MEAN. I can. If you want.” Kun and Dejun stare. “This Friday?” Kun brightens then.
“Oh, you wanna come? Yeah, sure! We can get lunch after!” The good-natured shoulder shake Kun offers again doesn’t really faze Dejun, glancing back and forth between the two, for sure confused now. Probably the first, most discernible emotion played out on his face. Dejun nods anyway— “I don’t mind either way.”
Kun’s smile remains bright as Yangyang tries not to sink to the floor entirely, because what was he thinking inviting himself to Kun and Dejun’s project get-together that he has no business being at, and is probably going to be boring— and knowing Kun, early as fuck, on the day Yangyang has no classes—
— Dejun’s still looking at Yangyang. Yangyang slams back to Earth, back straight and smile just as bright as Kun’s (hopefully).
“It’s a date then.” Kun says, and Yangyang winces. Dejun nods and offers his little smile again before taking his leave, bag and guitar slung over his shoulder— he plays guitar too? Yangyang has to fight the urge to turn his head back and watch him exit the practice room— because again. What the fuck is my problem.
Kun pats his shoulder, grounding Yangyang back down to reality again, ushering them out of the room as well, and Yangyang wonders if this is anything close to that feeling Dejun was channeling into song— the paralyzing despair of something in a language he can’t comprehend but feels so, so powerfully and pitifully in the pit of his stomach.
Ok— I was for sure just being dramatic.
Probably.
It’s stupid— so stupid and dumb and pointless and stupid and when Yangyang lies down for the rest of the night after a round of late night studying, he can’t help but think of mysterious, beautiful Dejun anyway, stupid scary eyes and sharp cheekbones and immaculate eyebrows, a passionate, stunning voice, and the way he looked at him, gaze steady and alluring when he walked into the room—
“Hey.” Kun whispers in the dark, leaned over and patting his shoulder, gentle— maybe the way a guidance counselor talks to a five year old. “You okay?”
“Awesome.” Yangyang answers. He was groaning out loud apparently. He wants to bash his head in the wall, but he settles for going to sleep instead.
-
As previously noted and confirmed, Dejun is so, so cool when he sings, eyes shut, lost in the pure, unfiltered emotion he pours into every note. Kun’s piano playing was already beautiful, and Dejun’s voice just takes it to even greater heights— Kun looks over the moon at the end of the Friday morning practice session, like even he can’t deny that Dejun is the fucking coolest.
When he sings.
When Dejun is not singing, he’s immediately tripping over the stool on their way out of the practice room. He’s also now currently throwing his head back in loud, goofy, squeaky laughter at something not even that funny that Kun said over lunch afterwards, right in the middle of the cramped cafeteria— almost the way Guanheng does it but somehow even worse.
He’s also really slow at eating? Which Kun seems fine with, since they’re having a blast talking, but at some point, Yangyang would really, really like to go back to his dorm, or just do anything else, really.
But instead, Yangyang sits beside Kun awkwardly with his sandwich and coke, not sure how at all to process this new information. Dejun’s eyes aren’t actually all that scary here, with the way he smiles— his actual smile, not the tiny, captivating one he gave them the first day they met. This one is wide as Hell and reveals really oddly sharp teeth, like what the fuck.
Yangyang scolds himself internally because he’s really, really trying not to be mean, but— it’s all just so far removed from whatever Yangyang thought Dejun was supposed to be, it’s not even funny.
Except. Maybe it is a tiny bit funny.
Funny enough for Yangyang to suddenly let out the relieved burst of laughter he didn’t know he was holding in. It startles Kun and Dejun laughs so hard at Kun’s reaction, he snorts loudly. The spell is broken— Dejun is not cool. Not even a little bit. Yangyang is free.
He’s definitely going to let himself have it in his room later today for even once entertaining the idea that this fleeting feeling could have been anything more than just a misjudgment of respectful and normal admiration, because Yangyang still has to hand it to him— Dejun could sing like nobody’s business. But the Dejun Yangyang thought he saw, untouchable and unknowable— was not the Dejun sitting in front of him, squeaking into his soup. The realization was like three consecutive Christmases and Birthdays for Yangyang.
It was not love at first sight— Hell, it probably wasn’t even a crush. Dejun was somehow even dorkier than Kun, and that guy does magic tricks.
Yangyang was already internally drafting a gloating text to Guanheng when Dejun finally finished eating, and they were heading back across campus to the music room, where Kun decided to speak to his professor one last time for the day.
In-between choosing the perfect emoji to convey smug vindication, Yangyang thinks Dejun might have glanced over at him once or twice on the way back, and he doesn’t care. It’s awesome. (Despite glancing back to notice in the first place. Yangyang doesn’t care about that either though, he’s settled on the sunglasses emoji).
From another last quick glance, Dejun’s face is back to perfectly neutral expression Yangyang first met him with, but like— who cares anymore, and who’s even paying attention to that, not me—
A familiar game jingle suddenly blips from Dejun’s phone in his bag and Yangyang almost flinches, gaze finally back on him fully. Kun’s chatting with his professor in the room while they wait awkwardly jsut outside the door. The jingle broke the illusion of them no longer occupying the same space.
“You play?” Yangyang blurts out before he could stop himself, and Dejun finally turns to look at him too. He has that expression still, the one that Yangyang couldn’t quite read before when they first met, and with a clearer mind now, Yangyang thinks he might know what the expression means now. Dejun stares at him almost as though he’s shocked Yangyang is even speaking to him.
“Yeah. Do you?”
“Yeah.” Silence. Okay then.
Kun walk back out of the room to meet them, and with another little bro-handshake, they finally go their separate ways, at the crossroads just outside of the center. They barely even say goodbye to one another, with just a quick nod and a hand wave over the shoulder from Dejun before he’s turning away— gone from Yangyang’s life.
Realistically, there’s no reason for Yangyang to see him anymore. He’s never once ran into Dejun on campus before this, with their respective majors’ centers being on the opposite sides of one another, and Yangyang plays no part in Kun and Dejun’s assignment together. He was the one-time tag-along who just had to hear Dejun’s amazing voice, and he did.
He also does not know, or care, about Dejun, it’s impossible to even have a crush on someone you didn’t know or care about, and Yangyang sure as hell did not have the patience or desire to entertain any ideas suggesting otherwise any longer. The forty-eight hour period of having a “crush” had to have been maybe one of the weirdest, most irritating moments of his life, so honestly, good riddance. He would never see or hear Dejun again.
But. Dejun does play Yangyang’s favorite mobile game that literally nobody else plays. And Yangyang really wasn’t so callous to send someone who did him no harm off with good riddance.
Against his better judgment, for faster than a second— Yangyang looks back. Dejun was long gone, but something in that expression when Yangyang spoke to him directly for the first time— one on one, he realizes— lingers.
He needs a gaming buddy. That must be it. “Hey Kun. What’s Dejun’s number?”
-
Dejun texts so formally, it almost fixes Yangyang’s posture.
By formally, he means that Dejun types out complete sentences with prosper punctuation, and Yangyang grumbles because who does he think he is, responding all properly and respectfully to hey wats up this is yangyang? Yangyang shoots him a defiant sunglasses-face emoji— he will not be intimidated by mister MLA formatted texter— and Dejun responds with the cat smiley face. Oh. Okay.
With the ice more or less broken, Yangyang invites Dejun to a couple rounds of their shared mobile game— a sorta shitty MMORPG that’s been ported onto mobile for a quick buck. Dejun’s good— good in the way that Yangyang suspects means that Dejun might game quite often. He chews the inside of his cheek in contemplation.
u play on pc? He types out after their last round.
Yeah. Do you?
yea
Dejun’s voice comes clear through Yangyang’s headset, and Yangyang resists a residual shudder from having his voice so close, crackling in his ear. He unfortunately still has to admit Dejun’s speaking voice is quite nice, but it would only have to be with how good his singing voice was.
Just remember his goofy ass laugh. Yangyang frowns then, immediately after— relax. He’s really not usually this mean, is he?
Just as he figured, Dejun really was quite good at the game. “You don’t have Saturday classes, right?” Yangyang asks.
“No…”
Yangyang pauses for a moment. He had really just wanted someone else to play his dumb little mobile game with at least once, he thinks. He also doesn’t like how he has to add I think at the end of that statement. But if they already graduated onto PC gaming…maybe a second round wouldn’t be so bad?
“Let’s play again then, tomorrow. You down?” There’s a pause on Dejun’s end now, the sound of movement soft and crackly through the headset.
“You don’t think I might have plans tomorrow already?” Not quite the response Yangyang has expected from him at this point. Huh. He’s pretty sure there’s no venom behind his words, but he doesn't know for sure, of course. But Yangyang’s never one to back down from a challenge either way.
“Nope.” Testing the waters. Another pause, and Yangyang thinks for a split second that this might be the end of a possible promising gaming partnership before Dejun barks out a laugh on the other end of the headset that gives Yangyang a light jolt.
“You’re something, huh?” It’s the same tone as just before, but something about it makes Yangyang laugh now. It almost just makes him want to poke at him— just a little more.
“But I’m right, right? So you’re down.” Another pause, and a sigh.
“Yeah, I’m down.” Yangyang smiles to himself maybe a little too triumphantly.
They play only for little while longer, before Dejun signs off for the night— 9:00pm? On a Friday? Yangyang glances at the clock and scoffs in disbelief. Nerd.
Later that night, at the cool and normal bedtime of 1:00 AM on a Friday, Yangyang thinks back on earlier. There’s really nothing weird about playing games with Dejun. With his mistaken crush out of the way, Dejun actually could become a promising gaming buddy now, maybe. God knows Yangyang needs one with how bad Guanheng is at anything but fucking league and Ten at, well— any game.
So it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s all good.
You’re something, huh. Yangyang tries not to think too hard about it, but those words, and the full and deep tone of the voice they came from, slip in and out the back of his mind, just as he drifts off to sleep.
-
One Saturday turns into two Saturdays, then three.
On the third Saturday, Yangyang is both worried about the consistent amount of time he’s (sort of) spent with Dejun, and also the three consecutive Saturday nights in a row he’s spent cooped up in his room playing video games.
He’s also starving. He glances at his table clock: 6:00PM. Yangyang will probably meet up with Ten and Guanheng after they’re finished with their respective work shifts, but until then, he has a couple of hours to kill.
He chews the inside of the cheek in contemplation again, glancing between the pixels on screen and his phone next to him on his desk.
u hungry? He texts. They’re actually still in the middle of a game round, but a response comes almost immediately.
Yeah.
They meet at the outdoor area of cafeteria, this time with less crowds, and without Kun. They’re also now having their first actual conversation, Yangyang’s realized— he couldn’t pick up too many details about Dejun’s daily life while playing online together, beyond Dejun having the sleeping schedule of a grandma and having two roommates shuffling around in the dorm around him, apparently. Under the stark light of the lamps above cutting through the dark fo evening, in actual person, Yangyang learns that Dejun is majoring in Music Composition, just like Kun.
“Kun’s just really amazing, honestly. Really good at singing too.” Yangyang swallows a random impulse down— he kind of wants to admit to Dejun how good his own voice is. But he won’t— not directly, anyway.
“But you’re better, right?” Dejun sputters into his soft drink immediately at this, and Yangyang’s come to earth-shattering revelation that Dejun blushes really easily. Oh, he’s almost a little too giddy over this.
“No...I’m telling Kun you said that.” Dejun narrows his eyes before turning away, taking a too-long sip of his drink and hard chew of his salad. Call it a petty form of revenge on Yangyang’s part, but discovering how easy it is to rile Dejun up feels a little too good after Yangyang was tricked into Dejun was some untouchable ice queen (and yes, that was totally Dejun’s fault, just trust him).
“You think you’re good though, right?” Dejun looks back up at him, blinking owlishly mid-chew.
“Yeah.” Yangyang laughs— another response he didn’t entirely expect.
“Show off.”
“How am I showing off if you asked me?”
“Could’ve just been like ‘Oh, who? Little ol’ me?’”
“Why lie?” Yangyang laughs even harder at this, and at the fact that Dejun looks way too ready to defend his own honor, posture defensive and face just so sincere. In the current thirty minute span of the meal together, Dejun’s face revealed itself to be way more expressive than Yangyang could have ever even imagined from their first in-person meeting.
“What’s your major?” Dejun asks after. “Biochem.” Yangyang responds, and laughs just as hard again at Dejun’s eyes flying open.
“That shocking? What, you thought I was that dumb?” Dejun’s face somehow gets even redder, and there’s simply no way Yangyang could have ever taken Dejun for some kind of hidden veil, frost and mystery— he’s an open book. Yangyang thinks he could get used to this new side, really— might actually never get enough— wait.
“Not at all.” Dejun almost pouts. Don’t go there. “I just...since you were with Kun, I thought you were maybe a music major too.” A pause, before he ends with: “I wish I could do math.”
Yangyang barks out a laugh, ready to say anything to steer him off wherever his mind is trying to take him, before he’s just saying anything again— “You want me to teach you?”
He’s kidding— he has to be kidding because there’s no way he’s entertaining the thought of hanging out with Dejun in person again after this. Not when he—
“Really?” Dejun face is deathly serious and strangely hopeful. Almost pitiful. “I…I’m kind of having trouble with Algebra 2…” His face is way too sincere again, actually way too pitiful, and way too— too something that Yangyang doesn’t like, but he hears himself responding anyway.
“Yeah, dude, really.”
Dejun smiles, and they finish up their meals not too long after. They clean up after themselves and Dejun gives a happy wave, a proper goodbye, turning the other way and leaving Yangyang with a study session scheduled for Monday and a sinking feeling in his stomach.
He really didn’t want to see Dejun again. And yet he does. He didn’t have a bad time— not at all. He might’ve actually had a little too good a time. The realization leaves a small flutter in his chest that he shoves back down completely, scattering any other thoughts as he pulls up Guanheng’s number to figure out his next move for the night.
-
Just as with their gaming sessions, Yangyang didn’t know how often or for how long to expect their study sessions to be a thing, and like with their gaming sessions as well, one study session eventually turns into three.
He’s actually cool with it this time though— the library is cozy and warm compared to autumn chill settling in outside, and Dejun buys him coffee and snacks every time, even when Yangyang had refused at first (and okay, only once).
Dejun’s really not as bad at math as he made himself out to be. It’s just difficult for him to connect the concepts together.
Dejun gives a skeptical look this conclusion, but Yangyang’s long asserted this is the struggle most people have with math— it’s one thing to memorize an equation, and another entirely to understand where and why one would even apply the equation in the first place. Dejun’s scribbling all this down on his notes like his life depends on it, and Yangyang’s only a little flattered.
“I never thought of it that way, but…it makes sense.” Dejun concludes rather suddenly a little while into mostly silent studying, looking up from his homework across the table at Yangyang currently biting into his (free!) muffin.
“I guess I just always thought I could maybe just get away with memorizing…” He rubs at his neck, like he’s been caught in an act.
“Don’t sweat it, it’s not that easy at first.” Yangyang hopes he sounds as sincere as he means to. Dejun seems to believe it, but scoffs anyway, tone light— “You think you’re good though, right?”
“Why lie.” Yangyang goes back to his muffin, and Dejun huffs out a laugh.
“But honestly, I think most teachers just suck at teaching math. I think I just got lucky that I just kinda...get it. Like it just makes sense to me, you know?” Yangyang adds on to Dejun’s curious look.
“Like it just follows a good set of rules. If you get it, then you just...get it.” Dejun frowns. “Like, you can’t fuck up if you know what you’re doing! There’s a— a logic to it.” Yangyang snaps his fingers once he finds the right words— he’s never actually had to explain his process of thinking to anyone in this way, he realizes.
Dejun whistles. “The mind of a biochem major…I kind of hate that there’s so many rules.”
“I mean, isn’t writing music kind of like that?”
Dejun shrugs. “There’s rules, yeah— or more just foundations you should master. But beyond that, music is just what you want it to be. Whatever your mind comes up with— whatever you’re feeling.”
Yangyang chews on the last bit of his snack and thinks back to his old violin lessons of past. He thinks there probably is a difference between practicing and perfecting the technical motion of playing an instrument, versus the process of actually creating a song. It’s nothing he has any real experience with. Most art-related things, he’s had to put away for the sheer workload he’s been given, thanks to his major. He can’t even remember the last time he picked up a pencil to sketch and doodle like back in high school, choosing video games every time for his leisure time instead. He almost feels a tiny bit guilty at this.
Yangyang shrugs and laughs, if only to shake the feeling off. “I guess I’m just not that creative.”
Dejun shakes his head, way too sincere once again— something Yangyang’s realized he’s like, quite often. “Everyone’s creative. You just have to learn how to tap into it.”
Yangyang doesn’t know what sort of expression he has on his face currently, but it must be something dumb because Dejun laughs right at it. “You want me to teach you ?”— and Yangyang freezes, for whatever reason— for just a moment.
“You’re getting way too ahead of yourself for someone who barely learned what y=mx+b is.” Dejun laughs heartily again, giving Yangyang a shove to his shoulder that Yangyang just barely dodges.
“You’re really something…” Dejun says under his breath, looking back at his notes with a small smile that can’t help but linger like before, just somewhere near the back of Yangyang’s mind for the rest of the day.
-
Dejun was teasing, but their conversation stays in Yangyang’s mind for a few days after anyway.
As acknowledged before, Yangyang’s always been fascinated by masters of their craft. It’s what initially had drew him towards Dejun in the first place after all, in a Time That Must Not Be Acknowledged— the way Dejun seemed so completely in control of his voice reminded Yangyang of his other favorite musicians, or the skilled graffiti artists and gamers on YouTube he liked to watch, or even the NBA players he’s followed since childhood— people who went beyond just memorizing mechanical motions and moves, people who understood what they were doing— what laid deep beneath their respective crafts, the core they learned to tap into to make them excel.
It gave him the same rush of solving a riddle or a particularly hard homework problem gave him (if that wasn’t the fucking nerdiest thing anyone’s ever admitted, he frowned). There was just something so satisfying about applying this kind of sense and logic to everything— the idea that everything could be broken down, turned inside out and figured out, and put back together in its place.
It had never really occurred to him before that you could perhaps do that with creativity itself— Yangyang always figured it was just something you were born with. Yangyang was born with never dipping below an 85% in Algebra, Dejun and Kun were born with shooting out a banger and actually staying on pitch— logic vs. creativity, left brain vs. right brain, you know— the classics.
And from the few times he heard Dejun in his element at his own craft, there was simply no way that Dejun could’ve been taught to sing the way he does— technique, sure, maybe, but soul? — there’s no way.
But Dejun seemed so assured in saying that everyone was creative. And at the end of day, he was still only teasing when he told Yangyang he could teach him.
But could he teach him?
“Hey, how do you write a song?” Dejun looks up from his notes on the library table, blinking again at Yangyang currently sipping his (free!!!) coffee, as nonchalantly as Yangyang can muster.
“What part do you mean?”
“I don’t know...just. The entire song.” Dejun blinks, again. “All of it. The whole thing.”
Yangyang wonders (not worries) if maybe he sounds really, really dumb, to even be asking an artiste to divulge their process. But Dejun seems to humor him anyway— consider him even, mulling on the question quiet and serious, then even more seriously, before he’s suddenly shoving his notes into his bag and slinging it over his shoulder.
“Why don’t you come to the Music Center with me? I should probably work a bit on my part of the project anyway.” It’s Yangyang’s turn to blink up at Dejun now, before he can register what exactly is happening— “Oh, uh. Sure.”
The walk across campus over to the Music Center is quick enough, and they’re soon lugging their bags in then corner of the same practice room Yangyang’s grown a little more familiar with by now. Yangyang settles for a stool nearby, while Dejun plops himself down on the bench right in front of the piano itself.
“You play?” Yangyang asks, and Dejun smiles, only a little smugly.
“I do. Guitar too.”
“Didn’t ask but okay.” Yangyang leans back swiftly from Dejun swatting at him with his hand. “What are you gonna show me then, oh, great prodigy?”
Yangyang realizes very quickly he might’ve gotten too smart, too soon— Dejun launches into the very basics of music theory that has his head spinning alone. Yangyang’s into of music, of course, ‘cause like, who fucking isn’t, but the sheer depths Dejun delves into while explaining it to him— Yangyang realizes sheepishly this might be some of the stuff he tunes out a bit sometimes in the common area, when Kun’s chatting away about his classwork. Sorry Kun.
Still— Yangyang wants to know more. So he asks questions, and Dejun lets him take a look at his notes from class. They don’t clear up a ton, but Yangyang does think he could be getting somewhere with this— perhaps if he takes a music class for one of his general education requirements next semester.
“So what do you do with all this then?”
“What do you mean?”
“How do you make a song?”
“I don’t know...you just make it.”
“Oh, okay. Well, thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule, sir, I know it must’ve difficult to—“ Yangyang dodges yet another swat— “I thought you said you could teach me! ”— before Dejun scoots over on the piano bench, leaving a small space open. Yangyang stops talking immediately to stare blankly at it.
“It would make more sense to show you.” Right. Right. “Right.”
He takes a seat next to Dejun, and Dejun runs his hands across the keys before he starts playing, step by step, easing into— the foundation, a song structure, a melody, simple chords— the room fills with the lights tinkling of the keys, cheery music, easy-going, easy to listen to. It’s different from the type of songs Yangyang had heard him singing before— much brighter. Far, far away from whatever troubles those lyrics Yangyang still didn’t understand lamented over.
Yangyang wonders then how Dejun might sing along to this. He watches Dejun’s hands glide over the keys, and his eyes soon wander up to the profile of his face. Even with how simple the impromptu piece is, Dejun is fully concentrated, eyes shut and mouth pulled tight. His eyelashes are very long.
They flutter open when the song finishes and Yangyang whips his head away to the side, very interested suddenly at whatever’s on the top of the piano hood.
“I don’t know if that really helped at all…” Dejun starts.
Yangyang shrugs. “It was nice.” Dejun smiles, and Yangyang resists the urge to look away again. “But, how did you decide that would be the song?”
“Like how did I come up with that?” Yangyang nods. “I mean, at that point, that’s just when it’s whatever you’re inspired by...like,” Dejun points at the window right beside the piano, white sunlight filtering in. “It’s sunny out today, even as the weather’s getting colder. So I just channeled that.”
“Ah. Sap.” Another swat to dodge, and Yangyang laughs. “It’s not bad! Just didn’t know you were into things like that.”
“Things like what?”
“I don’t know, like...nature and shit.”
“Nature and shit.”
Yangyang nods again. “Nature and shit. Very ‘Guy That Plays Piano And Guitar’ of you.”
“So you ask me to show you how to write a song and you have the audacity to make fun of my process?”
Dejun’s face turns cold, cold as the day Yangyang first met him, and Yangyang’s smile drops almost completely— out of all the light teasing they’ve inched towards, did Yangyang for real fuck up finally, now of all times? He can’t lie— he definitely loves pressing buttons, maybe a little too much sometimes, but he hates actually hurting feelings. Maybe he’s gotten too comfortable, too fast, the jokes just too soon, too much— have they been too soon? Too much—
“Pfft.” Yangyang blinks as Dejun bowels over in laughter, finger pointed right at him and almost leaning into Yangyang’s shoulder.
“Your face.” Yangyang’s mouth gapes open and shut.
“Y-you—“
“You’re really not as cool as you think are, you know.” Dejun smiles smugly, turning back around to the piano. It leaves Yangyang gaping stupid still because oh, what.
“YOU should be saying that about yourself, talking about ‘Ooohhhhh look the sun’s out, ooohhhh look at me writing my little songs’— “
This time, Dejun’s swat lands hard right on Yangyang’s shoulder, and it almost pushes him off the bench entirely before Dejun grabs his arm swiftly, yanking him back forward. He’s laughing too hard to even see Yangyang’s face, eyes wide in shock, laughter squeaky, goofy, infectious enough to have Yangyang finally break and burst into it himself.
They leave the Music Center not too long after. Yangyang buys Dejun a pack of cheap shortbread cookies from the vending machine nearby as a peace offering, and Dejun shares half. They sit out on the benches, soaking up the warmth the sun has to offer in the chill, and Yangyang glances over at Dejun’s profile again, the soft curve of his long eyelashes pointed upwards towards the sky.
-
Time passes, and Yangyang comes to learn a thing or two more about Dejun— he and his family originally come from Guangdong, he exercises pretty regularly to stay healthy but can’t resist sweets, he’s a total dog person, and yes, he does try to go to bed before 10:00 PM everyday (“AH, Dejun it’s almost 4:00 PM! You need me to help you brush your teeth, grandpa?—ACK” as Dejun swiftly knocks the back of his knees over).
He’s also learned that with his decently tight schedule of class and errands, Dejun doesn’t actually have too many friends on campus. He only became acquainted with Kun through pairing up for their class project.
So Yangyang makes the very measured, deliberated, cautious and informed decision to introduce him to Guanheng and Ten.
do NOT be weird. Yangyang texts Guanheng in his most threatening tone. There’s no use in attempting to reign in Ten, so he has to at least try with Guanheng.
Why would i be weird? :-)
only psychos put noses in their emojis so ur not helping your case
It all actually goes very well— great even, really. The four of them meet up at a ramen spot not too far from campus, and Dejun hits if off well with Guanheng and Ten almost immediately, so much so that Yangyang can’t help but wonder a little as to why it took him and Dejun so long to even consider hanging out beyond gaming or studying sessions.
It occurs to Yangyang over the steam of broth from fresh bowls brought to the table that even after all this time, with how much time the two have spent together at this point, this may actually be the first time he and Dejun are hanging out with no other pretenses. It gives him pause, but he can’t dwell on it for long when he feels Guanheng bumping his shoulder lightly with his own.
Guanheng nods his head a little towards Dejun and Ten, completely engrossed in conversation. Ten’s showing Dejun something on his phone, and Yangyang leans forward when he hears music— it’s not nosy if he’s literally right across the table— “Ah, me too!” Dejun says excitedly, grabbing Ten’s equally excited hand. “I love this song!” They’re practically squealing with excitement and Yangyang glances back at Guanheng, who simply shrugs, amused. Yangyang, for whatever reason, doesn’t feel quite as amused.
“Wait— is that our playlist?” Yangyang asks, leaning across even more to get a better look at Ten’s phone screen.
“Yes, but it is no longer our shared playlist— it’s mine and Dejun’s now, because someone here finally appreciates my artistry.” Ten pauses, eyes upwards in thought. “Guanheng can stay too.” Guanheng pumps his fist in the air.
“Oh, you’re just talking about your TJ Maxx ballads.” Yangyang responds, unimpressed, and Dejun looks more than offended enough in Ten’s honor.
“My TJ Maxx ballads that have to sit alongside whatever SoundCloud rapper’s career you’ve decided to personally fund this month, so.” Ten bites back, snatching his phone away from Yangyang’s view and turning back to Dejun, now queuing up another cliche easy-listening oldie Yangyang usually can’t skip fast enough.
“Is that your favorite kind of music, Dejun?” Guanheng asks conversationally, and Dejun rubs at the back of his neck, suddenly shyer than Yangyang think he’s ever seen him be.
“Well, I like all kinds but…”
“But you’re a romantic at heart.” Ten finishes, smile fond as he shakes Dejun’s shoulder. “Kindred spirits, I can tell.”
Dejun giggles like he’s guilty, clutching the hand that’s grasping his shoulder and Yangyang can’t stop glancing back and forth between the two of them because— What.
“Well, Dejun’s a musician, and here he is liking my music, so who wins?” Ten grins mischievously, in the way he always does, but it’s poking at Yangyang’s nerves in a way it never has before. Yangyang’s not entirely sure what he’s about to shoot back with before Guanheng swoops in, effectively cutting off anything Yangyang might have said— what was I even going to say?
“Dejun, you speak Cantonese, right? You like any oldies?” Guangheng switches over to Cantonese himself and Dejun’s eyes brighten in delighted surprise. They’re swept up in their own conversation now, blended in with the clatter of plates and the hum of life from the booths around them, and Yangyang glances over at Ten from across the table.
Ten meets his eyes, and smiles his usual smile, mischievous still, cute, as always. Yangyang smiles back, and it feels tight.
The rest of the night goes smoothly enough, with Dejun even offering to pay the tab entirely before the three of them effectively bully him out of it, splitting four ways instead. Ten’s dorm building is closer to Dejun’s than anyone else’s, so the two bid Yangyang and Guanheng goodbye for the night with a characteristically smothering hug from Ten and a small wave from Dejun before they walk off on their own, shoulders bumped up against the other, still chattering away like schoolgirls.
Guanheng scrolls through his phone as they linger a moment longer on the campus sidewalk, and Yangyang scuffed at the floor lightly, for lack of anything else to do. He watches the two leave. Dejun— neither — of them look back.
“That was him, right?” Guanheng’s voice knocks Yangyang out of his thoughts. “Your Romeo, your dreamboat, your king, your Mr.-“
“My bro.”
“You’ve barely called anyone bro since high school— what are you now, joining a frat? Straight?” Guanheng quickly dodges a very sloppy shove from Yangyang.
“I call everyone bro, bro! But...yeah, that was him. Was. Was!” Guanheng puts his hands up in defense, but Yangyang knows better. “For real, I’m being serious. It was never actually serious, I was just being dramatic. You were…right…” Guanheng leans in closer, as though Yangyang wasn’t speaking at full volume. Yangyang flicks at his stupid, perfect profile.
“Storing that away for future reference, but the way. But either way, seems like you two get along really well, I’m glad. He’s a cool guy.” Guanheng smiles easily, the way he always does. Yangyang can’t help but still feel like he’s being put on the spot anyway— was this him overreacting? Being dramatic, again?
“Yeah...yeah, he’s pretty cool. In his own weird way, I guess.” Yangyang shrugs. It’s dark walking across the yards of green lawn on their way to their dorming area, only a couple campus lights left on at this point, and Yangyang picks up the pace. They fall silent for most of the journey, and Yangyang concentrates step by step, on the mist his breath forms in cold air.
“Hey, you know...Ten still likes Johnny, right?” Guanheng eventually says as they finally near their dorms. Yangyang pauses, knocked out of his mindless space.
“Yeah, dude…any reason you’re mentioning this now?” Guanheng turns towards Yangyang completely at this point, paused just outside the bundle of buildings— for all his silly jokes and antics, Yangyang’s known and loved Guanheng as a sincere, and genuinely honest friend. He just didn’t know how much he liked that about him right now.
“I think you know why I’m saying that. I could be wrong of course— and if I am, that’s completely my bad. But.”
Yangyang’s face grows hot— whether from annoyance, anger at something, or anything else, he’s not sure. “Dude, I— come on, I’m not…” Guanheng’s huge eyes are like a signaling light shining right at Yangyang, and he cannot, for the life of him, understand why he’s feeling so defensive right now. “I’m not, like... jealous, okay? And even if I was, there’s no way I’d ever think of Ten in like— that way…”
Guanheng lets out a sigh, maybe the way on does when speaking to a child. It certainly makes Yangyang feel like one. It makes him wants to actually feel angry, almost does— but Guanheng pats a heavy hand his shoulder, and it all melts away with the sincerity in his expression.
“I know you’d never want to think of him that way. And I know you know Ten would never do anything to hurt you intentionally. And I know that you say there’s nothing going on, and I believe you.” Guanheng’s grip tightens on his shoulder, the same way something grips inside Yangyang’s stomach and chest.
“But if that were the case— and I’m not saying it is, but if it were — maybe...you’re just feeling something you’re not used to. Something you don’t know how to handle yet, and it’s making you act and feel a way you don’t know how to deal with. But just know that none of us are against you. You don’t have to take it out on others. I know you wouldn’t want to anyway.”
Guanheng releases his hold on Yangyang’s shoulder. It lurches Yangyang forward a little bit, and he feels a little— dumb. Childish. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?” With that, Guanheng turns to make his own way towards his dorm, and leaves Yangyang staring at his back vanishing into the night, a heavy exhale forming mist that takes a thick shape before it dissipates into nothing.
-
It’s an ugly emotion that settles thickly in Yangyang’s stomach soon after, and he knows it’s there. Worse yet, Guanheng is right, again— he doesn’t know what to do with it.
What he does know to do is shoot Ten a text the next day while laying on his bed: i’m sorry for calling ur songs songs they play at the dentist’s office on wednesdays
Baby you’re always saying that about my songs lol it’s ok, what’s wrong?
Yangyang’s thumb hovers over his phone, unsure how to answer.
yea but i guess i mean like it was fucked up to make fun of u like that in front of dejun since u don’t know him that well
Aw you know I don’t care about shit like that lol. Dejun’s so nice btw lol he’s super cute
He likes all my music too so :) you’re replaced <3
Yangyang huffs out a smile at that. He’s glad Ten didn’t seem to pick up on Yangyang acting off in any way that night, but Guanheng’s words still leave Yangyang feeling sick over feelings he doesn’t want to confront. He then huffs out a sigh— if it risks fucking anything up with his dearest friends, then he would have to. He takes a moment to cringe internally.
Was he actually jealous? And if he was, of what exactly? He flips over on his side, frowning. Guanheng’s right (again again, sadly, horrifically), he may not be entirely familiar with the feeling in this specific form, but he’s not dumb— not dumb enough to not figure out the center of it all, anyway.
Dejun is nice. Dejun’s dorky and goofy and just not cool at all, even a little bit, but he’s nice and funny and thoughtful. He has a perspective on things Yangyang finds interesting, fascinating, even. He’s handsome. Yangyang frowns harder at how hot his face feels now, but it’s true. He probably, most likely, maybe kinda sorta may have a small crush on Dejun. Maybe.
And— maybe that was fine. He never thought he would be saying that, but maybe it was actually okay to be feeling this way. Honestly, why wouldn’t he be? He’s spent a lot of time with Dejun now, they do get along well— granted, these are things that are all true of his relationships with Guanheng, Ten, and Kun as well, and he’s never felt this way towards any of them before, but he’s come to realize there both is and isn’t any sense at all to crushes, which is exactly the reason he never wanted to bother with them in the first place.
He doesn’t know why it had to be Dejun of all people. But at the same time, who else could it be?
Yangyang buries his face to his pillow. He doesn’t want to think about the how or why or when any longer. All he needs to do now is ride this crush out. He technically already had one before, and Liu Yangyang simply just does not fall easily, hard, or at all— how hard could it be to get over another one again, on the same person?
Am I really even going to bother with this? Like. For real now. He lays on his back and thinks to when he thought he might have fallen for Dejun when he was the mysterious figure he thought he’d only admire from afar, and how that all feels so far away from the actual Dejun that had closed on him without him entirely realizing.