it all starts at the bright, ripe age of sixteen—when he realizes that he's playing for the other team.
yeah. his team.
it came in the form of a seemingly normal, hormonal wet dream that all teenage boys have—though usually involving girls, not sweaty, extremely attractive men running around in only scantily clad women's lingerie.
that itself is a bit strange, yes, however that's not the dream he'd had, well at least not his first.
his first, involved a normal, average-looking classmate of his that looked damn sexy with his shirtless ( and strangely sweaty ) body hovering over him—of course, he was turned on.
and that, was when all thoughts of living happily-ever-after with the perfect family with the perfect wife and the perfect kids were thrown out the window.
- - - -
"ah, shit. i can't do this anymore," he mutters, slapping the book shut. he places his fingers on his temple, trying desperately hard to rid of the headache he knows he's going to get.
this is college life: parties, booze, girls, and pulling all-nighters for those make-it-or-break-it exams—that sums up about as much as onew's heard about it.
he's never experienced any of it, actually, unless you'd count those all-nighters he's gone through ( and still is ). he wonders why, but then realizes that's not the reason that made him ( his parents ) enter this high-class, genius-filled ( though not really ) rich kid college.
he'd come to learn, his parents would say. it's no question that he does agree, though he just wishes he could experience an ounce of insanity, unpredictability, adventure.
he thinks he's too average. that's the best reason he's willed ( allowed ) himself to come up with.
not too good-looking, just chock-full with all the average qualities ( excluding brain power ) : dark eyes, chocolate-brown hair ( which he admits he'd call 'sexy' ) and a pretty decent body ( he swears he has some sort of muscle on him ).
though compared to those rich, how-the-hell-is-it-possible-to-be-that-h
he lets out a long sigh before he's putting away his studies and climbing into those invitingly warm covers, already drifting.
- - - -
he wakes up. and it's uncomfortable, in just the right ( wrong ) place.
it's been happening a bit too frequently, and he's positive that it must be the fact he hasn't gotten anything close to action in quite a while ( a few years actually, and even those weren't as exciting as he'd wanted )
maybe it's the fact that he's gay, and maybe that just makes it so much more harder for him to find just what he's looking for. yes. he'll go with that. it boosts his self-esteem.
dragging himself out of bed, he engages in his repetitive morning routine, and is off to classes ( in which he inwardly groans at the thought of )
- - - -
there's something new and different and abnormally handsome in class today, and he goes by the name of choi minho.
he looks damn rich, for one thing.
long legs, brunet hair, and a smile that he's sure is making the girls ( and him ) swooning ( he swears those eyes are twinkling )
and then, the walking sex god talks.
he's got the full package.
- - - -
it's unreal, this new, attention-grabbing thing ( he can't believe him to be real—he must be dreaming ), he's already at the top, all eyes on him, fangirls ( even fanboys ) and all.
onew stares, he must admit, when he walks by, in actuality everyone does, he's just too...beautiful.
in time though, he knows it'll pass, the constant thoughts ( dreams ) he's started to have about him, just a phase. it's impossible to even fathom that he's gay, much less think he'd have a chance with him if he were—wham.
it must be irony, he thinks, that of course he'd collide into said person just as he's day-dreaming about him ( it makes him blush about ten times more, but he'll keep it cool )
"sorry," he murmurs, incoherently. and just like magic, he's already walking away ( practically running ), leaving minho with an addled look painted across features.
( and that, my friend, is as 'cool' as it gets. )
- - - -
it may be fate, it may be nothing but a coincidence, however onew cannot think this to be anything more than bizarro.
the two of them just happen to meet again ( on exactly the same day, he might add ) as partners in crime, making the world a better place with their plastic water guns.
alright, that was a bit of an exaggeration.
in reality, they are partners, though only for a project entailing the wonders of business and life and whatnot—a tip-top secret mission is not in store, unfortunately.
casual, business-like, is how they present themselves. nothing short of awkward, though nothing short of mutual either.
this is nothing but a business meeting, per se, only due to work together for a short time till they're parting ways once again.
does onew prefer it that way? no. he doesn't.
but when life gives you lemons, you squeeze the shit out of them in frustration because you know damn well that there's no way you can make lemonade out of these.
- - - -
scheduled time of meeting: every saturday between the hours of one to four p.m.—all held in the comfort of minho's five-star, over-the-top apartment ( anything below exceeding apparently insufficient in the world of the rich and powerful )
innumerably larger than onew's two-room apartment ( his kitchen and living room conjoined into one area ), with simple ( yet miraculously expensive ) modern furniture and the like.
the place looks absolutely flawless the moment he walks in ( a maid probably instilled to keep it so ), following minho to wherever the hell he's taking him.
now in his irrefutably spotless bedroom, the work begins.
- - - -
"i guess we can stop here for now." minho starts, gathering their materials and stashing them into his desk-drawer. the clock just about striking four.
onew nods, packs up, and trips. ( and then leaves )
- - - -
it's accidental, completely and indisputably so—he hadn't meant to come a few minutes too early. those few minutes where he sees something he really shouldn't have seen.
someone's at the door before him, just about saying good-bye to a smiling minho, before giving him a passionately ( and obviously meaningful ) kiss ( all-out snog, actually: arms wrapped around each other, bodies flush )
though there's something wrong with this compleat equation: there are ( onew has counted about a hundred times already ) two.
and of course that's when minho sees him ( the one hiding egregiously behind the ledge )
- - - -
onew doesn't mention anything, doesn't say anything at all—because minho does it for him.
"don't tell anyone."
onew raises his head, pencil and paper on hold. "tell what." ( no, he's not doing that on purpose, he's really just that dense )
minho stares, blank.
"—oh, oh that. i won't say anything. not a problem. at all. i mean i feel you man, it's hard." ( he's just about blown his cover, as you see here, having gotten a little too agog after discovering this valuable piece of information )
his eyebrows shoot up, eyes widening ( ah, now he realizes )
"i didn't mean—"
seeing no way around it, he replies with a "yes."
minho just nods, and leaves the situation as it is. no point to push further.
- - - -
having something in common apparently brings the two of them closer, onew notices. minho's composure more relaxed, his tone more like friendly banter ( apparently that trait leaves this sort of effect—he's not complaining )
"so how is it. for you." minho drops the question, honest inquisition sound in his tone.
"you're talking about relationships, right?" ( minho gives a slight, amused nod, having gotten used to onew's dense demeanor )
onew continues, oblivious, "well it's been bad and good. nothing monumentally exciting, but hey, it was something."
minho nods once more, "haven't found 'the one' yet?"
onew stops his work, and contemplates. "yeah. you could say that."
- - - -
once again onew sees something he really doesn't think he's meant to be witnessing—but he's come at exactly the right time this time, so that must count for something, yes?
it doesn't make much ( at all ) of a difference.
thank the lucky stars, onew's graced with seeing the all too dramatic and all too personal break-up of minho and that guy. ( because he can't will himself to say boyfriend, for some reason, and well he doesn't know his name, so there )
they end with a slam of the door and the tear-streaked that guy rushing past onew, emotionally unstable and perspicuously unaware of his surroundings ( if he were, he would've seen onew a much longer time ago, minho had, unsurprisingly )
he's about to high-tail it out of here until minho's calling him in, telling him it's fine, it's okay, even smiling at him ( with no sign of even a single tear having left his face )
this break-up, it seems, has minho shooting for the stars in flaunting happiness.
- - - -
"i'm a free man now, no strings attached," minho beams, lying across the square ( it's modern ) couch, arms and legs slung in a slipshod manner.
onew grins back, feeling as happy as minho ( again, for some inconceivable reason ) "can't get any better than this, right? you can walk around naked and it wouldn't matter."
minho stops, perturbed.
"i can't explain that." ( his random bouts of onew sangtae never fail him )
minho blows it off, too fluky to even care, and then he's off. about that guy and every damn thing that pissed him off about him.
onew stays silent the whole time, content to just listen to minho pummeling the shit out of the guy with his highly intricate vocabulary.
- - - -
the project days are long over ( A's for the two of them, they just know ), and they've made it a point to be friends. good friends. close friends. great friends.
onew's immensely happy he's gotten this far, being best buddies is absolutely fine with him.
then something happens. again.
- - - -
onew decides to spend the night at minho's ( just like he's done many times before ), watching cheesy k-dramas ( they're just too much fun to watch, they both insist ) and talking and giggling the night off like the two twelve-year-old girls they are.
he squints at the screen, thinking, and says something onew: "she looks like a donkey."
minho just turns, and looks at him, eyes tired and lips slightly parted. he pushes a sound through. an "eh."
"it's like the one from that movie," onew perdures, still squinting at the screen.
minho only grunts.
he turns ( finally ) to look at him, and stops. and stares. for a little bit.
minho's face starts growing, bigger and bigger until he ascertains that he's an inch away from his—
- - - -
-it's a bit strange, well at least it feels like it is for me. not exactly what i'd had in mind, and honestly i don't feel this is anything near good ( or even decent, or maybe i'm just being too hard on myself ) i'm just too tired and too incoherent to even think my writing will make any sense or be anything decent. anyway, thank you to whoever you are who reads this. :))