Lin Chen was exhausted.
Not from late-night studying, not from exams, not from group projects—though all those things loomed on the horizon—but from the constant, exhausting effort of holding himself together.
Every day had become a performance: his posture perfect, his answers sharp, his notebooks pristine. On the outside, he was still Lin Chen—the top student, the reliable one, the one professors pointed to as a model.
But on the inside, he was unraveling.
And the worst part was that grades, or deadlines, or academic pressure didn't cause it. No. It was Zhou Mingyu.
Zhou Mingyu, who strolled into his life like chaos disguised as sunshine. Zhou Mingyu, who leaned too close, smiled too easily, and said things that stuck in Lin Chen's chest long after they should have faded.
"If I reached for your hand right now, would you stop me?"
Lin Chen pressed his palms against the cool sink in the dorm bathroom, willing the memory away. It had been days since Mingyu said that, but the question still lived rent-free in his mind, replaying when he least expected it.
He wanted to answer yes. To slam the door, to push back, to build a wall and never let Mingyu close again.
But the truth—the terrifying, unspoken truth—was that he didn't know if he would stop him.
And that was enough to undo every carefully built defense.
By the time Lin Chen arrived on campus, he could feel the shift in the air.
Rumors. Again.
They always travelled faster than reason, faster than truth. Every glance lingered too long, every whisper carried fragments that sliced sharper than knives.
"They're always together."
"I swear I saw them walking back to the dorms last night."
"Do you think it's true?"
Lin Chen kept his head down, shoulders stiff. His pen tapped against his notebook during the lecture, a staccato rhythm of nerves.
Mingyu, seated a row behind him, didn't seem bothered at all. Lin Chen caught his reflection in the lecture hall window: chin propped on his hand, eyes lazily focused on the board, posture relaxed as though he hadn't noticed the tension swirling around them.
But Lin Chen knew better. Zhou Mingyu noticed everything.
And if he wasn't reacting… it was because he wanted people to keep talking.
After class, their classmate Li Wei caught up with Lin Chen.
"Hey, Lin Chen—could you help me with the formulas from Chapter 7? I just… can't wrap my head around them."
Lin Chen hesitated. His instinct was to refuse. Tutoring was time-consuming and draining, and he had his own work to do. But Li Wei looked desperate, clutching his notebook like a lifeline.
"…Fine," Lin Chen said finally. "But just for an hour."
"Thanks, you're a lifesaver."
They agreed to meet in the standard room that evening. Lin Chen told himself it was harmless. Just tutoring. Just numbers.
He didn't account for Mingyu.
The standard room was quieter than usual; most students were tucked away in their dorms. Lin Chen set out his notebook, methodical as ever, and began walking Li Wei through each formula step by step.
"See? You misplaced the variable here. If you move it, the whole solution changes."
"Ohhh," Li Wei said, leaning closer to peer at his notes. "That's where I went wrong. You're really good at explaining, Lin Chen."
Lin Chen cleared his throat, uncomfortable under the praise. He wasn't used to people sitting this close and wasn't used to their warmth brushing against his arm.
He shifted slightly away, but Li Wei leaned in again, squinting at the numbers. "Could you write that part down? I'll copy it exactly."
Lin Chen adjusted his posture, pen scratching across the page.
And that was when the shadow fell across the table.
Lin Chen's pen stilled.
Zhou Mingyu stood there, hands in his pockets, expression calm—but his eyes… His eyes were sharp, unreadable, and fixed squarely on Li Wei.
"Oh," Li Wei said, startled. "Mingyu. Do you need something?"
"Yeah," Mingyu said smoothly, pulling out the chair on Lin Chen's other side and sitting down without hesitation. "I need Lin Chen."
Lin Chen's breath hitched. "What—?"
"For our project," Mingyu continued, tone light but gaze unwavering. "We're behind schedule. He's busy."
Li Wei blinked, confused. "…Oh. I didn't realize. Uh, sure. Maybe we can do this another time, Lin Chen?"
Before Lin Chen could reply, Mingyu leaned forward slightly, still casual on the surface. "Another time might not work. He's got a lot on his plate. Right, Lin Chen?"
Lin Chen swallowed hard. "…Right."
Li Wei looked between them, then gave a sheepish smile. "Got it. I'll figure it out myself."
He packed his things quickly and left.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Lin Chen turned, eyes narrowing. "…What was that?"
Mingyu tilted his head innocently. "What was what?"
"You just chased him off."
"Good."
"Good?" Lin Chen's voice sharpened. "He just needed help."
"He didn't just need help," Mingyu said evenly. His gaze held Lin Chen's, steady and unflinching. "He was leaning into your space like you belonged to him."
Lin Chen froze. His pulse jumped violently. "I don't belong to anyone."
"Not yet," Mingyu murmured.
The words were quiet, but they slammed into Lin Chen's chest like thunder.
He shot to his feet, chair scraping loudly against the floor. "You can't say things like that."
"Why not?" Mingyu rose too, slower, calmer, as though every move was deliberate. "Because you'll believe me?"
"I won't."
"You already do." Mingyu's voice was low, steady, and dangerous in its certainty. "Every time I get close, you flinch. Every time I touch you, you tremble. And yet—you never pull away fast enough. Not really."
Lin Chen's chest heaved. His throat burned. He wanted to argue, to deny, to throw the words back in Mingyu's face. But he couldn't.
Because Zhou Mingyu was right.
The silence between them stretched taut.
Then Mingyu's hand lifted—slow, unhurried—and brushed lightly against Lin Chen's collar.
"You should fix this," he said softly, straightening the fold. His fingers were warm, his touch careful, almost reverent. Not teasing and not mocking. Just steady.
Lin Chen's breath caught. His entire body froze, every nerve alight.
The gesture was so small, so mundane—and yet it carried a weight he couldn't name.
Mingyu's eyes held his. "Next time, don't let anyone crowd you unless you want them to."
Lin Chen's throat tightened. The words weren't possessive. They were protective. And that made it even harder to resist.
Desperate for air, Lin Chen grabbed his bag. "I'm going back to my dorm."
Mingyu didn't stop him. He only stepped aside, giving him space. But as Lin Chen brushed past, Mingyu's voice followed him, low and sure:
"One day, you'll stop running. And when you do, I'll be here."
Lin Chen faltered, heart hammering, before forcing himself forward. He didn't look back.
Back in his dorm, Lin Chen collapsed into his chair, head in his hands.
His skin still burned where Mingyu's fingers had brushed his collar. His ears still rang with those words.
He told himself it was just a game. Just Mingyu teasing, as always.
But he knew—deep down, in the part of himself he refused to face—that Mingyu wasn't joking anymore.
And that terrified him more than anything.
That night, Lin Chen dreamt of shadows and sunlight, of hands brushing, and of voices whispering promises he wasn't ready to accept.