Lin Chen woke to the faint hum of sunlight filtering through the blinds.
For a moment, he didn't move. He just stared at the golden lines of light cutting across his desk, the faint sound of students passing outside his dorm window, and the world resuming its rhythm like nothing had changed.
Except everything had.
He turned his head toward the chair in the corner. Mingyu's hoodie—warm grey, soft cotton—hung there, still faintly damp at the edges. He'd forgotten to give it back last night after their walk from the library.
Lin Chen sat up slowly, his mind replaying fragments: the rain, Mingyu's voice, the umbrella tilting closer, their hands brushing on the handle—
He cut the memory off before it could make his pulse race again.
He swung his legs off the bed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. "It's fine," he muttered to himself. "It didn't mean anything."
But even as he said it, his chest tightened in quiet protest.
The rational part of him—the part that loved equations, order, and logic—insisted it was just Mingyu being Mingyu. Friendly. Warm. Infuriatingly unbothered.
But the other part, the one he didn't know how to name, whispered that maybe Mingyu meant every word he'd said.
Lin Chen groaned and dropped his face into his hands. "I need coffee."
He showered quickly, dressed in his usual crisp shirt and dark jeans, and almost walked out without the hoodie—almost. At the last second, he turned back, grabbed it, and shoved it into his bag.
He told himself it was so that he could return it. Nothing else.
The campus buzzed with morning chatter. The rain had washed everything clean—the pavement shimmered faintly, the air smelled like wet grass, and sunlight glinted off puddles like tiny mirrors.
Lin Chen's first class was in the science block, but of course, Mingyu's building was on the way.
He told himself he wasn't looking for him. He was walking. Normally. Like any other morning.
Except his heart gave a traitorous lurch when he spotted Mingyu leaning against the bike rack, laughing with a couple of students from the photography club. He looked infuriatingly bright—hair still damp from a quick shower, camera slung around his neck, white shirt rolled at the sleeves.
The sight of him made something twist deep in Lin Chen's stomach.
Mingyu noticed him instantly. His grin widened. "Lin Chen!"
Oh no.
Lin Chen froze mid-step, instinct screaming run, but Mingyu was already waving him over with that same sunny ease that made it impossible to refuse.
"Morning," Lin Chen said, trying to sound casual as he approached.
"Morning?" Mingyu repeated, mock-offended. "That's all I get after walking you home through a thunderstorm? Not even a coffee invite?"
Lin Chen blinked. "You're the one who brought an umbrella."
"Wow," Mingyu said with a theatrical sigh. "Cold. Heartless. Typical top student behavior."
The photography club students laughed, and Lin Chen felt his ears heat up. "You're embarrassing yourself."
"Wouldn't be the first time," Mingyu said easily, slinging his camera bag over one shoulder. Then, lowering his voice just enough for Lin Chen to hear, he added, "You sleep okay?"
Lin Chen stiffened. His throat went dry.
"Fine," he said quickly, too quickly.
Mingyu's smile turned knowing. "Good. Because I was worried you'd catch a cold after standing in the rain all dramatic like that."
"I wasn't dramatic."
"You were definitely dramatic."
"I was cold."
"Cold and dramatic."
Lin Chen gave up with a quiet sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Are you done?"
Mingyu tilted his head, eyes glinting. "Not even close."
The worst part was that he didn't sound teasing in the cruel way—just warm and familiar, as if they'd been doing this for years.
Lin Chen should've walked away then, but he didn't. Maybe it was the sunlight, or perhaps it was the memory of Mingyu's voice from last night—steady, gentle, real—that rooted him in place.
Finally, Mingyu said, "Are you returning my hoodie?"
Lin Chen blinked, taken aback. "How did you—"
Mingyu's grin widened. "You're wearing the same bag you had last night. I noticed the outline."
Lin Chen felt a flush crawl up his neck. "You're observant."
"I have to be. You're not exactly easy to read."
That line landed heavier than it should have. Lin Chen looked away, pulling the hoodie halfway out of his bag. "Here."
Mingyu took it, his fingers brushing Lin Chen's for a second longer than necessary. "You washed it?"
"No. It was barely wet."
"Hmm," Mingyu hummed, inspecting it like it was something precious. "Smells like your detergent, though."
Lin Chen froze. "You—you can't just say things like that."
Mingyu grinned. "Why not? It's true."
Lin Chen turned away, muttering, "You're impossible."
"And you're easy to fluster," Mingyu said, falling into step beside him as Lin Chen started walking toward the science block. "Seriously, though. Are you okay after last night?"
Lin Chen's steps faltered.
It was a simple question, but it landed like a weight in his chest.
He could say yes and pretend everything was normal. But Mingyu's gaze—calm, steady, unwavering—made lying feel… wrong.
So he said, quietly, "I don't know."
Mingyu's voice softened immediately. "That's fine. You don't have to."
They walked in silence for a bit after that, the noise of morning chatter filling the air between them. It should've felt awkward, but it didn't.
By the time they reached the science building steps, Lin Chen realized his heartbeat had calmed. Mingyu didn't demand, didn't push—he just stayed.
It was disarming. And addictive.
At the door, Mingyu gave a slight nod. "See you later?"
Lin Chen hesitated. "We don't have class together today."
"Doesn't mean I won't see you later," Mingyu said, smiling. "You always end up in the library, right? I'll bring coffee."
Lin Chen sighed but couldn't hide the faint curl of a smile tugging at his lips. "You're relentless."
"Persistent," Mingyu corrected. "There's a difference."
Lin Chen rolled his eyes, but his voice came out softer. "Fine. Coffee. Later."
Mingyu's grin brightened like sunlight breaking through clouds. "It's a date—"
"Not a date," Lin Chen cut in quickly.
Mingyu's laughter followed him up the steps, warm and easy. "Sure, sure. Not a date."
But the way his voice lingered behind him—low, teasing, sincere—made Lin Chen's chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with irritation.
And as he stepped into his classroom, clutching his notes a little tighter than necessary, he couldn't stop the thought that crept in uninvited:
If it wasn't a date, why did it feel like one?
By the time Lin Chen settled into his seat in the front row of the lecture hall, his mind was already a battlefield.
He tried to focus on the equations glowing faintly on the projector screen, but the symbols blurred together into something unreadable. Every few minutes, his brain betrayed him by replaying Mingyu's voice—soft, teasing, and sincere.
"You don't have to be perfect."
"It's a date."
He tapped his pen against his notebook, forcing his attention back to the lecture.
"Mr. Lin," Professor Xu said from the podium, snapping him back to reality. "Would you like to solve this one for the class?"
Lin Chen blinked, startled. His classmates turned to look.
"I—yes, Professor," he said automatically, standing. His mind scrambled through the last five minutes of notes, piecing together the steps he'd missed. The problem was straightforward, but his pulse refused to calm.
He worked through it with mechanical precision, his handwriting neat, his tone steady. When he finished, Professor Xu gave an approving nod.
"Efficient as always," the professor said, moving on.
Lin Chen sat back down, ignoring the chuckle from the seat beside him.
"Dude," whispered Kai, his roommate and fellow engineering major. "You blanked out for a full minute before that. What's going on?"
"Nothing," Lin Chen said curtly, flipping his notebook shut.
Kai leaned in, lowering his voice. "Uh-huh. Nothing. Right. Does 'nothing' happen to have the name Mingyu, by any chance?"
Lin Chen froze mid-motion. "What?"
Kai grinned. "Please. The entire campus saw him walk you back last night. You two looked like a poster for a romance drama."
"It was raining," Lin Chen said sharply.
"So dramatic," Kai teased. "Are you sure you're not in love with him?"
Lin Chen nearly dropped his pen. "What—no!"
Kai held up his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. But you're blushing."
"I'm not—" Lin Chen clamped his mouth shut.
Kai smirked, clearly enjoying every second of his suffering. "You know, if I didn't know better, I'd say the top student has a crush."
Lin Chen pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're insufferable."
"Maybe. But I'm right."
He wasn't. Probably. Hopefully.
The rest of the lecture passed in a blur. Lin Chen's notes were neat as ever, but he barely registered a single word.
By the time class ended, Kai was still wearing that knowing grin. "Coffee later?"
"Can't," Lin Chen said. "Studying."
"Let me guess," Kai said, raising an eyebrow. "In the library?"
Lin Chen's silence was answer enough.
Kai laughed, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Good luck with your research project."
Lin Chen glared. "You're impossible."
"And you're transparent," Kai called back, waving as he disappeared into the crowd.
Lin Chen exhaled slowly. His friends were impossible, his focus was shot, and his heart refused to behave.
He told himself that he was only going to the library to study. Not for Mingyu. Definitely not because Mingyu had said he'd bring coffee.
Except—
When he reached the library entrance, Mingyu was already there, leaning against the railing with two cups in hand.
Lin Chen stopped mid-step. "You're early."
Mingyu grinned. "Or you're late."
"I wasn't planning to—"
"Sure you weren't." Mingyu handed him one of the cups. "I got your usual. No sugar, extra foam. You looked like you needed it this morning."
Lin Chen blinked. "You remembered?"
Mingyu shrugged, smiling easily. "You talk more than you think you do."
"I don't talk that much."
"Exactly. That's why it's memorable when you do."
Lin Chen's throat felt dry. He took the cup to give his hands something to do. "You're very persistent."
"I told you," Mingyu said, walking past him into the library. "I don't give up easily."
Lin Chen followed, pretending it wasn't because he wanted to.
They found their usual table by the window. The afternoon sunlight spilt across the desk, painting warm patches of light on Mingyu's hair. He'd taken off his jacket, leaving just the loose white shirt that clung lightly to his frame — casual, effortless, annoyingly distracting.
Lin Chen sat opposite him, setting down his notes with forced composure. "I actually need to study today."
"Go ahead," Mingyu said, sipping his coffee. "I'll be quiet."
"You?" Lin Chen raised an eyebrow. "Quiet?"
Mingyu grinned. "I can multitask."
For a while, they did fall into a comfortable silence — Lin Chen working through formulas, Mingyu editing photos on his laptop. Occasionally, Mingyu would hum softly under his breath or mutter about lighting adjustments.
It should've been distracting, but somehow, it wasn't.
Lin Chen found himself working better, feeling calmer, as if the usual weight pressing on his shoulders had loosened slightly.
When he finally looked up, Mingyu was watching him. Not in an intrusive way — just observing quietly, like he was trying to memorise the shape of the moment.
"What?" Lin Chen asked, half-annoyed, half-curious.
"Nothing," Mingyu said, smiling faintly. "You just look… peaceful."
Lin Chen blinked, taken aback. "That's random."
"Not really. You usually look like you're carrying the whole universe in your head. It's nice seeing you just… here."
Lin Chen opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. There it was again — that quiet sincerity that always disarmed him.
He dropped his gaze back to his notebook. "You say strange things sometimes."
Mingyu chuckled. "Maybe. But they're true."
The clock ticked softly. The world outside drifted on. Inside that pool of sunlight and silence, Lin Chen realised something small but significant — he didn't want to leave.
The campus at twilight looked like a watercolour painting—soft gold spilling across the paths, the air still damp from the earlier rain. Lin Chen walked beside Mingyu in silence, their shoulders almost brushing against each other. Now and then, Mingyu's sleeve grazed his arm, and each accidental touch felt like a small fire he didn't know how to put out.
"Are you always this quiet after studying?" Mingyu asked, his voice low but laced with amusement.
Lin Chen gave a small exhale that could've been a laugh. "I just don't see the point in talking when silence works fine."
"Hmm." Mingyu tilted his head toward him, grinning. "Then what does silence say right now?"
Lin Chen looked away, pretending to adjust his backpack strap. "It says you talk too much."
Mingyu chuckled, the sound soft and warm like the wind moving through leaves. "Maybe. But I only talk this much around people who make me want to listen back."
That stopped Lin Chen cold. He didn't know why the words hit so deeply — maybe because they were said so easily, like breathing. Mingyu didn't say it to make him blush or squirm. He said it because he meant it.
Lin Chen's steps faltered. "You—"
But before he could form a sentence, Mingyu stopped, too. They were standing near the steps leading down to the lake behind the library. The reflection of the sunset shimmered on the surface, throwing warm light over Mingyu's face.
And suddenly, it was impossible to look away.
Mingyu's hair caught the fading light, his eyes soft, open. "You don't have to say anything," he murmured. "I just… wanted you to know that I'm serious."
Something twisted inside Lin Chen's chest — fear, confusion, and something dangerously close to longing. He wanted to walk away, to end this before it began. But his feet wouldn't move.
"Mingyu…" he said quietly, and even to his own ears, it sounded like a confession waiting to happen.
Mingyu took a step closer. "Yeah?"
The space between them felt fragile, charged. Lin Chen could feel the warmth of his breath, the quiet hum of something unspoken stretching between them.
He didn't know what he was going to do — maybe nothing. Maybe everything. His pulse roared in his ears as he opened his mouth—
—and froze.
A voice sliced through the stillness.
"Lin Chen?"
They both turned sharply.
At the edge of the path, holding a half-open can of coffee and wide eyes, stood Shen Qiao — their mutual friend, the one who never missed anything.
For a heartbeat, none of them spoke. The world held its breath.
Shen Qiao's gaze flicked from Lin Chen's flushed face to Mingyu's too-close stance. His expression shifted — from confusion to realisation to something dangerously close to a smirk.
"Oh," Shen Qiao said slowly, eyes narrowing with interest. "Did I… interrupt something?"
Lin Chen's heart dropped into his stomach. Mingyu's jaw tensed, but he didn't move.
The silence was deafening.
Lin Chen finally stepped back, putting space between them; the moment was shattered. "No," he said quickly, too quickly. "You didn't."
Shen Qiao blinked, clearly unconvinced but amused. "Sure. You two looked pretty serious, though. Studying again? Or something else?"
Mingyu's tone was calm, even lazy, but there was a glint in his eyes that made Lin Chen's pulse skip. "Just walking," he said. "But maybe we should finish this later."
Lin Chen didn't dare look up. His throat felt dry, his heart still thundering with the echo of what almost happened.
Shen Qiao raised a brow but said nothing more, falling into step beside them like nothing had happened.
But Mingyu didn't take another step. Instead, he stayed where he was, eyes fixed on Lin Chen — silent, steady, unreadable.
And for the first time, Lin Chen couldn't tell if he wanted to run from that gaze… or toward it.