Two evenings. It had been that long since Zhou Mingyu, with his dark, unreadable eyes, leaned across the desk and said the words that exploded like a firecracker inside Lin Chen's chest.
"Then give it some thought."
It was something Lin Chen had considered, compulsively and against his will. He repeatedly relived that moment: Mingyu's unwavering gaze, the way his voice curved around the words as though they were a challenge rather than a promise.
He had considered it as he lay awake at two in the morning, gazing up at the ceiling. While his pen was scratching nonsense across the margins of his notes in class, he had considered it. He had considered it as he nearly swallowed toothpaste while brushing his teeth.
And each time, the same conclusion was reached: he was unable to consider it. No, not at all. Not when thinking meant admitting the dangerous heat that was building up in his chest, the way that when Mingyu leaned too close, his heartbeat slowed, and the way that his entire world shook when those brown eyes met his.
Instead, Lin Chen focused all of his energy on studying, the one thing he could control. Even coffee couldn't keep him upright as he studied until his head ached and the numbers became hazy.
However, the thought persisted regardless of the number of pages he turned. Every formula, every scribble, every breath was haunted by Mingyu's voice.
Lin Chen now stood in front of the library on a Saturday morning, holding his bag tightly like a shield and fearing what was inside—their "study marathon." A 12-hour Mingyu session. Thirteen hours of temptation. Attempting to avoid thinking for twelve hours.
Lin Chen took a deep breath. This is something you can accomplish. Concentrate on your work. He is merely a fellow student. He's—
"Good morning."
The voice was like sunlight through blinds, piercing his thoughts. When Lin Chen looked up, Zhou Mingyu was there, smiling, holding a bag of snacks in one hand and two cups of iced coffee balanced in the other.
"Stop looking so serious," Mingyu chirped. "War is not in our future."
Lin Chen took a swallow. "Don't we?"
Somewhere in the quiet section of the library, they found a corner table. Lin Chen unpacked his books with surgical precision, stacking them neatly, and lined up pens along the edge of his notebook.
Mingyu, on the other hand, unceremoniously tossed his bag and placed the coffees between them.
Lin Chen's brow furrowed. "What is this?"
Mingyu said, "Caffeine," and slid one in his direction. "Dark circles appear on your face. You'll need it if you want to make it through twelve hours with me."
"This is not what I asked for."
"You were spared the bother." Smugly, Mingyu reclined in his chair. "I am more familiar with you than you realize."
Lin Chen gripped his pen more tightly. He averted his gaze, praying that Mingyu wouldn't see the slight flush that was beginning to appear on his neck.
It was surprisingly normal for the first hour. Except for the occasional page turn and the scratch of pens, they worked in complete silence. Lin Chen found himself unwinding, almost persuading himself that perhaps—just possibly—he could survive the day without any problems.
Then Mingyu stretched, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a small strip of skin, his arms lifting above his head. The pen of Lin Chen slammed into the paper.
Mingyu moaned and sagged dramatically against the desk, saying, "Ugh, my brain's fried." "I need some time off."
Lyn Chen said, "We've barely started," with a tone of rigidity.
Mingyu grinned and opened one eye. "You're no fun."
"I'm not here to have fun."
"Clearly." Mingyu yawned, then, without warning, snatched Lin Chen's pen right out of his hand.
"Give it back," Lin Chen hissed.
"Make me," Mingyu teased, twirling the pen between his fingers.
"Mingyu."
"Lin Chen."
The ridiculous standoff escalated into a tug-of-war, their hands brushing against each other, their faces too close. Lin Chen yanked harder—and the pen flew from Mingyu's grip, bouncing off his forehead with a soft thunk.
For a beat, there was silence.
Then Zhou Mingyu burst out laughing.
It wasn't his usual smirk, not the teasing chuckle Lin Chen had grown used to. This was real—deep, unrestrained, and utterly disarming. His entire face lit up, eyes crinkling and dimples showing.
Lin Chen froze. He had never seen Mingyu like this before. Something warm bloomed in his chest, unfamiliar and terrifying.
No. Don't.
He forced his eyes back to his notebook, pretending to write. But his hand trembled, his ears burned, and the sound of that laugh echoed in his head, replaying mercilessly.
When Mingyu finally calmed down, he wiped his eyes, still grinning. "You're not as scary as you pretend to be, you know."
Lin Chen's pen stilled. "… What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you're human." Mingyu leaned on his hand, his gaze softening. "Underneath all that perfection, you're just… you. And I like that version better."
Lin Chen felt her heart lurch violently as the words hit her like an arrow.
"Cease saying such things," he whispered.
Why? Mingyu's head cocked. "Because you'll begin to trust me?"
Two classmates walked by their table, whispering loudly, before Lin Chen could reply.
"You see? They're always together, I told you.
"My ass, I'm studying."
A knot formed in Lin Chen's stomach. He pretended to read while he ducked his head.
But Mingyu, who was utterly unconcerned, leaned back casually. He avoided the critical looks with ease.