kyungsoo thinks maybe he had the right idea when he decided that jongin was trouble, and he should stay as far, far away from him as possible.

but, you know, when does anyone ever really take their own advice on things like this? no one, see? the heart is a mysterious thing that works in unfathomable ways, and drives many a persons to do things they typically would never do under any other normal circumstances.

and kyungsoo is no different.

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baekhyun had always been under the strongest impression that his dorm mate do kyungsoo was a prude, a prissy little virgin with his fine-pressed khaki slacks and argyle sweater vests, never a single strand of hair ruffled out of place, and always heading out for classes twenty minutes early so he can grab the very front and center seat.

everything about the boy screamed innocent and pure, for crying out loud.

therefore, baekhyun is finding it extremely difficult to comprehend, feet frozen to the floor and fingers clutching on the doorknob as if it was the only thing anchoring him to the ground, when he bursts into chanyeol’s supposedly empty room and finds his should be virgin roommate bouncing on top of his best friend’s lap like there’s just not enough dick in the world to satisfy his needs.

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when asked to describe do kyungsoo within three words or less, the most common traits to crop up would be things like mature, reticent, and maybe socially awkward at times. someone who stands off to the side, away from the thick of things, silently observing and acting as chaperon to make sure things go smoothly, everything in order.

that’s the kyungsoo everyone sees.

but what kris sees is a wholly different person, commanding, impressive, someone demanding much more regard and respect than that of just some shy wallflower who chooses to stay away from the limelight.

what kris sees is the long, elegant line of kyungsoo’s throat as he throws his head back, glistening with sweat and adam’s apple bobbing as he chews on his full lower lip to hold back his heady moans.

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the smell of wet gravel permeates the air as jongin’s footsteps echo throughout the empty streets, followed by the sound of his sneakers splashing into the spring rain collecting in puddles all around the pavement.

holding a hand over his face to keep his vision clear of water, jongin spots the mom and pop convenience store located a few yards down and across the street from his school. glancing left and right to be sure that absolutely no cars are in sight, he quickly sprints diagonally for the little building, backpack swinging left and right as he makes his way towards the overhanging roof to get out of the rain until he can collect his thoughts and figure something out.

jongin runs all the way to the store, leaping over a particularly deep stream of water rushing along the curbside, until he finally makes it to drier grounds.

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there was once a time when kyungsoo thought he understood the world, when he could depend on everything to be set within the borders of a bold black outline. and each individual color that filled up the blank areas in between stayed within their boundaries, dependable, predictable, all simple, basic colors you’d be able to find in a children’s box of crayons.

everything from the straightedge lines of his heat pressed stefano ricci dress shirts, to the symmetrically stacked manila folders piled neatly across his parnian power desk, the almost obsessively compulsive uniformity of the black and gray color scheme of his million dollar penthouse suite, kyungsoo had always been safe in the knowledge of routine and constancy, normality, the invariable pattern of the way the earth rotates on a set axis, day in and day out, month by month, year by year.

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kyungsoo cringes with secondhand embarrassment as kris mumbles some unintelligible babble into the rim of his glass cup in what he probably thinks is a sexy, hot-shit cf king manner.

“duizhang, what are you, a baby?” baekhyun teases, grabbing his cup and imitating kris’s previous actions with much amusement and added exaggeration.

“asdkfhaklfjm.”

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